


Scar Tissue

by secretsidgenowriter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Athletic Trainer Sid, Captain Geno, Coming Out, Family Drama, Getting Together, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29134941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretsidgenowriter/pseuds/secretsidgenowriter
Summary: The summer after a Cup win is a whirlwind.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 45
Kudos: 335





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many, many thanks to icedbatik for beta reading this for me!

It starts like this.

The video is twenty-five seconds long and posted to Instagram at 12:34 in the morning.

The person filming it is drunk or laughing. Or both. It's out of focus and shaky but it's clear that Evgeni Malkin, captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins, is sitting on a low-backed couch with a willowy blonde woman hanging on him.

He has a drink in his hand and her hand is on his thigh, slowly creeping up.

“No,” he says with a shake of his head.

The background noise is oppressive, a song with a heavy bass, but his tone cuts through it. “Can’t.”

The woman pouts when Evgeni moves her hand off his leg.

“Why not?”

“Can't. Have boyfriend.”

Someone off camera says _what?_

“Love him,” he says.

There's a flash of a hand and a glimpse of the floor, a pink stiletto in the corner of the frame.

A new voice says _“Delete that”_ right before the video ends.

*

_That_ is how it _starts._

*

_This_ is how it _begins._


	2. Chapter 2

The summer after a Cup win is a whirlwind. 

Geno gets as much rest as he can, but it's difficult. 

Bouncing between Pittsburgh and Miami and Moscow and Magnitogorsk isn't easy. 

He feels like he spent most of his summer with jet lag and didn't get to do half the things he had planned. But he was able to lift the Cup, again, and he wouldn't trade that for anything. 

He's as relaxed as he's going to be. 

He's also happy and tan and running very late for the first team meeting of the new season. 

Geno doesn’t look up from his phone as he walks into the room, just smiles at the team as they hurl insults and sarcastic comments, and sticks his fist out to greet the athletic trainers and equipment people who are lining the back wall. 

Someone misses his hand and Geno looks up from his phone.

He has never seen the man in front of him before.

He is shorter and broader, maybe a little younger, with dark hair peeking out from beneath the Penguins cap he’s wearing.

“New,” Geno says. The guy nods.

“Yeah, sorry.” The new guy taps his hand against Geno’s and then Sully is saying “If you feel like joining us sometime today, Geno, that would be great.”

Geno turns on his heels and pockets his phone. “Yes, yes, I’m here. Team can win now.”

Tanger kicks his chair right when he sits down and Geno reaches behind him to swat at his legs. 

Geno’s been skating off and on all summer, but stepping onto the ice at the practice facility, surrounded by his teammates — his family — feels different. It feels _better_. Like he’s finally come home after a long journey. 

The guys are clumped into groups, vets on one side and rookies on the other, and Geno knows it will be his job as captain to get everyone integrated. But, right now? He skates straight over to Tanger and Horny. 

“Who is the new guy?” he asks as Tanger and Horny bounce a puck back and forth on their sticks. 

Tanger cocks his head to the side as he catches the puck. “Who?”

“New guy in room. Trainer or something?”

“Sid?” 

Geno shrugs and Tanger nods, like that must be who they’re talking about. 

“New athletic trainer,” Tanger explains as he drops the puck and pulls back to take a shot at the empty net. “He introduced himself before you got in. Should have shown up sooner.”

Geno shoves his skate in front of the puck. It bounces hard off his ankle. 

“Oops,” Tanger says as Geno skates in a tight circle grimacing in pain every time he puts too much weight on his left foot. “I guess you can go meet him now. Have him check that out.”

Geno grumbles and pushes at Tanger’s shoulder as he slowly limps by. 

Tanger cackles in return. “I didn’t tell you to block my shot.”

Geno limps off the ice and down the hall toward the trainers’ room, where Sid is taking stock of one of the medial cabinets, clipboard and pen in hand. 

“What happened?” Sid asks, putting the board down and clearing off a space on one of the tables for Geno to sit. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting to see anyone.

“Blocked shot. Was stupid.”

“I didn't even know practice had started yet.”

“Hasn’t,” Geno says as he slides back on the table. “Told you, was stupid.”

“Can you get your skate off?”

“Don’t know.”

Sid looks at him. His lips are pressed into a firm line. Geno thinks that is such a shame.

“Okay, well, I’m going to need to get your skate off.”

Geno tenses when Sid lifts his foot by the heel of his skate. 

“Okay. Go slow.” 

Sid nods, long fingers making quick work of the laces. “On three.”

He yanks the skate off on two.

“You said three.”

Sid sets the skate down then cradles Geno’s ankle in his hands.

“It’s better if you don’t know it’s coming,” he murmurs as he gently tugs off Geno’s sock and touches the red mark caused by the puck. 

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he says. When he looks up he seems surprised that Geno is looking back at him and quickly sweeps his eyes back down. “But I am going to schedule you for an x-ray to be sure. For now I’m going to ice it and tape it and ask you to stay off it.”

Geno starts to stutter out a protest and Sid levels him with a stern look.

“It’s the preseason. There’s no reason for you to be out there if you’re hurt.”

“But — ”

“I mean it. Take it easy until you get the x-rays taken and then we’ll go from there.”

“Strict.”

“I don’t want a repeat of last year,” Sid says as he activates the ice pack and places it over Geno’s ankle.

“Nothing could be like last year,” Geno answers, flexing his toes and trying to get used to the cold. Last year was hell and Geno has no plans ever to miss that many games again. “You don’t think it’s broken?”

“Probably not, but why risk it until we know for sure?” 

“Because. Want to play.”

Sid shrugs one shoulder and turns away. “Don’t block a shot. In practice. In the preseason. I’m calling in for your appointment now.” 

“But —” Geno begins to protest but Sid won’t hear it, walking away with his phone pressed to his ear. 

Geno huffs and rearranges the ice pack. 

*

It’s not broken, but it’s enough of a bruise that the doctors advise keeping him out of practice for the next two weeks. 

Geno watches on Instagram and Twitter as nearly all of Pittsburgh declares the season a bust as people set their sights on the number one prospect in next year’s draft. 

It’s ridiculous but hardly unexpected. Geno thinks Penguins fans are the best in the world, but their flair for the dramatic is unparalleled. 

While the guys are on the ice, Geno hangs back in the weight room and lifts until his arms feel like jelly. He refuses to let this be a set back. Just because he can’t skate, it doesn’t mean he can slack off.

With wobbly arms, Geno grabs a clean towel and wipes the sweat from his face. Down the hall he can hear pucks hitting the glass and he grits his teeth as he sets his jaw. He wants to be out there more than anything. 

He tosses the towel over his shoulder and walks the opposite direction, farther into the heart of the practice facility. 

He finds Sid alone in the trainers’ room, staring off into the middle distance as he unwraps roll after roll of athletic tape from its packaging. 

“Surprise you here,” Geno says as he leans against the open doorway. “Everyone say season is over since I’m not playing.”

Sid smiles but doesn’t look away from his work. “It’s preseason.”

“You try to tell fans that.”

Sid snorts. “What would hockey be without over dramatic fans?” he asks. “Just think about how happy they’ll be when you take the ice opening night.”

“You think I be ready?”

Sid shrugs. “I don’t see why not.” He looks over for the first time and eyes Geno’s sweat-soaked shirt. “As long as you don’t overdo it.”

“Am being good,” Geno defends. “Is just weights. Just upper body. I listen to doctors.”

“Then you’ll probably be fine. If you’re not ready for opening night then very close to it. It’s nothing for anyone to worry about.” Sid frowns at him. “Is there anything else you need?”

There’s not. Geno came down here on a whim to tease Sid and now that he has there’s no reason to stick around. He should leave but, for some reason, his feet feel rooted to the ground and he can’t look away from Sid’s hands as he continues to work. 

Suddenly there’s a commotion from down the hall and, when Geno leans back to look, he sees two Wilkes-Barre/Scranton kids coming toward him, one leaning heavily on the other and holding his gloved hand out in front of him. 

Geno steps out of the way as the two slump into the room and Sid puts down the wrap and immediately goes into work mode. 

“I think he might have a broken finger,” one of them says. “He jammed it into the board but he won’t let anyone take his glove off.”

“I can do blood,” the other says. “I can pull out my own teeth, but I can’t do crooked bones, I can’t do it.”

“Okay,” Sid says, all business. “I’m going to have to get the glove off. On three?”

Geno knows what happens next and he ducks out the door just as the kid screams. 

“It’s better if you don’t know it’s coming,” he hears Sid say. Geno shakes his head as he continues down the hall. 

*

The season starts on October 4th and, when Geno steps onto the ice, the roar of the crowd is almost deafening. 

Geno takes a few laps and nods to Sid, who has taken a spot at the end of the bench. 

Flanked by Jake on one side and Rusty on the other, his line has two shots on goal on their first shift and he sits down on the bench, happy and out of breath. 

“How do you feel?” Sid asks, leaning over so Geno can hear him. 

Geno cranes his neck and smiles up at him. “Good. Feel really good.”

Sid thumps his fist against Geno’s shoulder and leans back. 

Geno puts his focus back on the game in front of him. 

*

The Pens roll through October and November, collecting both wins and injuries. It feels like they can’t play a full sixty minutes without a guy or two heading down the tunnel. Most of the time they don’t come back. Sully says the words “still being evaluated” and “we should know more tomorrow” more times than Geno can count, and there seems to be an endless loop of AHL players streaming in and out of the room. 

*

In Florida, Geno takes a high stick to the face and he swears as no penalty is called even as his blood drips to the ice. 

Sully is on the verge of being ejected as Sid grabs Geno by the jersey and hauls him down the tunnel back toward the room. 

Sid produces a towel seemingly out of nowhere and instructs Geno to hold it to his cheek. 

“Once we stop the bleeding I can see how bad it is,” he says as Geno hisses at the pressure. “I think you’ll be all right. Do you feel dizzy or foggy? Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?”

Geno shakes his head as Sid takes a left into the trainers’ room. “No, is not head, just face.”

Sid pats the table and Geno eases himself up, holding the towel with one hand and unlatching his helmet with the other. 

Sid grabs a pair of rubber gloves and pulls them on. “Can you see okay? No blurred vision?”

“Am fine,” Geno tells him. “Cheek just hurt.”

“Take your jersey off,” Sid says and Geno blinks at him, confused by the sudden turn in direction. 

“You have blood on it. Dana will bring you a new one.”

“You think I can go back out?”

Sid doesn’t say anything, just slowly peels the towel away from Geno’s face. He frowns but nods his head. 

“A few stitches and you’ll be fine. Unless you want to stay out.”

Geno gives him a flat look. “Hurry and sew,” he says and Sid smiles.

“Just a sec.”

The entire process is unpleasant, from the first prick of local anesthetic to watching and waiting for Sid to set up the needle and surgical thread.. Dana comes in with a fresh jersey midway through and takes away the dirty one. 

“You might scar,” Sid says as he’s finishing up. “I can give you some cream to help with it.” 

“Look good,” Geno says, wincing just a bit when Sid pulls too hard. “Look tough.”

Sid shakes his head and carefully lays the bandage across his cheek. 

“Can't all be pretty like you,” he says and Sid stops what he's doing to look at him. There are flecks of gold in his eyes. 

“You sure your head is okay?”

“Is fine,” Geno says lightly. “Almost done?”

Sid keeps his eyes on Geno for a moment longer then drops them down to secure the bandage.

“You’re all set,” he says at the same time an audible groan comes from down the hall. There are a few cheers from the smattering of Pens fans in the audience and Geno grins. “Just in time for the party,” Sid tells him as he steps away and hands him his clean jersey. “You need help getting it on or do you have it?”

“Can do,” Geno says, jersey already halfway over his head. He bumps the stitches and swears and, when he gets his head through the neck hole, he can see that Sid is trying not to laugh. “Not funny,” Geno says petulantly. “Am I okay? Can I go?”

“You’re as okay as you’re going to be,” Sid says as Geno hops off the table and starts for the door. “I’d really like to go over what you’re supposed to do next,” he adds quickly. 

“Have had stitches before, I’m know. Keep clean, keep dry, blah blah blah.”

“Geno,” Sid says, voice hard and serious. Geno turns to look. Sid grabs his helmet and holds it out. “Don’t forget this. You’re gonna need it.”

Geno rushes back in and winks as he grabs the helmet. “Best, Sid. You take the best care.”

Sid laughs and ducks his head. “That’s my job,” he says. “You definitely don’t make it easy.”

“Ah,” Geno says back as he puts the helmet on. “Is my job.” 

*

They pull out a win in OT thanks to an absolute bomb from Tanger and back in the locker room they celebrate like they just won Game 7. 

Geno’s practically vibrating with excitement as Sid changes the bandage on his cheek and he can’t even apologize when Sid asks him to stay still. 

“Should come out with us tonight,” he says instead. He knows the guys will want to party and, with a few days off between now and their next game, they can afford to. 

“I don’t know,” Sid says as he lays a fresh bandage across Geno’s skin. He’s standing very close and Geno can feel the heat rolling off him. “It doesn’t seem like I’d be able to keep up. It’s not really my speed.”

That’s probably true. Most of the older, married guys are out with injuries and while he’s still plenty young, it’s not easy to find the energy to hang around all these kids in their early twenties. 

“Then we go somewhere more quiet,” Geno suggests. “I know a few good bars around here. Is not like, you know, a noisy club or anything. We could go together.”

“Don’t you want to celebrate with your teammates?” 

“You are teammate,” Geno tells him. “Plus if you too old to keep up with young kids then so am I.”

“I never said anything about being old,” Sid points out. 

“I did. C’mon.” He bumps his knee against Sid’s hip. “Come out. What else you do, go to bed early? Don’t be boring, Sid.”

Sid heaves a sigh and Geno smiles, not caring one bit that he’s pulling at the stitches. 

“Fine,” Sid says. “But this place had better be good.”

The place is good. Geno is cocky enough to call it great, all sleek and modern and cool but subtle enough that it doesn’t tip into pretentious territory. 

Sid orders a beer, whatever they have on tap, and Geno goes straight for the vodka. They wait at a hightop table in a relatively quiet corner with a good view of the bar and the dance floor. 

“So why Pittsburgh?” Geno asks when their waitress walks away with their orders. “You have poster of Mario hanging in your room when you were little?” “Ha, hardly. I was a Habs fan growing up.” He laughs when Geno pulls a face and puts his hands up. “Canadian, remember, I didn’t have a choice.”

“Guess I can forgive,” Geno teases. “But if you from Canada, then why come all the way down here?”

“I needed a job,” Sid says simply. “The Pens were hiring and I had only ever heard good things about the organization so I applied. Thankfully I got it. It’s been great, everyone has been so nice and, yeah, I wish I was a little less busy all the time, but that’s hockey, eh?”

Geno hums. He’s interested in what Sid’s saying but he’s distracted by the group of women a few tables over that are clearly interested in Sid. 

“Hey,” Sid snaps his fingers to get Geno’s attention and Geno turns back to him. “You just like … drifted off.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just watching girls.”

Sid’s face shutters and he looks down at his hands. “Oh.”

“No, no, I’m looking at them look at you.”

Sid scoffs. “Yeah, right.” 

“What? You don’t believe it? They’re not looking at me,” he says as he gestures to the bandage on his face.

“Why would they be looking at me?”

Geno rolls his eyes because of course Sid doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see the replies on Twitter or Instagram on any picture that he happens to be in. People — women — asking who he is and if he’s single. They’re brazen behind their phone screens and Sid is far too humble to accept it. 

“You hot, Sid,” Geno says, face immediately coloring as the waitress appears at his elbow with their drinks. “Thank you,” Geno tells her and she nods, trying her best to hide her amused smile. 

“That was really good timing,” Sid says as he takes a long pull from his glass. 

Geno kicks him beneath the table. “Don’t change the subject. What are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“About the girls.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

Geno rolls his eyes again and groans. There’s no way Sid is this dense. “Go talk to them, send them drinks, dance. Maybe hook up.” 

Sid looks away and shifts uncomfortably in his seat and Geno decides not to push. 

“Is whatever you want, Sid. Do something, do nothing … have fun.” Geno picks up his drink and takes a sip, aiming for casual and hoping he hasn’t offended Sid’s apparently delicate senses. 

Sid stares into his glass for a long moment then turns to look at the bar. “I’ll be right back,” he says as he slides off the stool and Geno watches him cross the room and lean against the bar. It takes him a few seconds to get the attention of the bartender and, when he does, they only speak for a few seconds before Sid steps away and walks back to the table. 

“Drinks are good,” Geno tells him as Sid sits down. “Is like ...” He stops and searches for the words. “Low key,” he says with a snap of his fingers. “Is nice gesture.”

Sid nods and they both watch the bartender pour a drink then slide it over to a man at the end of the bar in tight jeans and an even tighter T-shirt. The bartender points to Sid and when the man twists around to look Sid raises his glass. The man looks Sid over then smiles.

“Oh,” Geno says, feeling like an idiot. “Oh.” 

Sid sits up straight on the stool and faces Geno head-on. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Geno says quickly. “Of course not, just didn’t know.”

“I don’t talk about it a lot,” Sid says quietly. “I know how hockey is, I know how guys are.”

“Not these guys,” Geno says, running down the roster in his head. He doesn’t think any of his teammates would give Sid shit but he doesn’t really know all of them. This season has been a revolving door with all the injuries and it’s hard to keep up. “You hear someone say something?” “No,” Sid says, “I don’t know. Look, I played hockey growing up. I know how guys talk, even if they don’t mean anything by it. I don’t want it to become an issue.”

Geno doesn’t like the sound of that. It’s never going to be an issue, at least not while he’s captain. 

“I don’t like to make a big deal about it, but I guess I felt like I could trust you so ...” Sid trails off and Geno gently nudges Sid’s shin with his toe.

“Can trust me. If you don’t want to talk then we don’t talk. But if you do, if you hear someone say something, please tell me. Is important.”

Sid takes a deep breath and nods. “I will. For what it’s worth, they all seem pretty cool so far.”

Geno hums. “Yes, hope so.” He claps his hands suddenly and throws back the rest of his drink. “So, girls are out. Now, what are you going to do about hot bar guy?”

Sid laughs into his beer. “Nothing. What would I do?”

“Same thing with girls. You send a drink now you go talk, ask to dance … maybe hook up.”

“I can’t do that,” Sid says as his cheeks color to a rosy pink shade.

“Why not? Is only me here.”

“Exactly,” Sid says. “I came here with you, I'm not going to ditch you.”

Geno waves his hand. “Can ditch me, is fine. Was thinking about going back to hotel anyway.” He gingerly touches his cheek just beneath the bandage. “Hurts a little more now.”

Sid leans forward, full of worry. “Do you want me to take a look at it?”

“No, Sid,” Geno tells him. “Want you to stay and have fun. You deserve it. Been working hard all season, too. Should enjoy some time for yourself.”

Sid chews on his bottom lip, looking torn. Geno decides to make things easier for him. “Am going to go,” he says. “I’ll pay for our drinks, you stay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. See me all the time. Go, spend time with a cute boy. Well,” Geno puts his hands over his heart to correct himself. “Another cute boy.”

Sid rolls his eyes but Geno can tell that he’s amused. “If anyone asks where I am —”

“I’ll cover,” Geno tells him. “Now, go. Don’t want to keep him waiting for too long.”

Sid looks back to the bar, like he’s checking to see if the guy is still looking. When he sees that he is, Sid takes another swig of beer and stands up. 

“Thank you,” Sid says. “You’re a good captain and an even better friend.”

Geno wants to make a joke but Sid looks so sincere that he can’t. He’s too touched to tease. 

“Have a good night, Sid,” Geno says. “See you tomorrow.”

They part ways — Geno heading to one end of the bar to settle their tab and Sid to the other to meet up with the guy. Geno watches Sid raise his hand in a dorky, little half wave before the guy inches over to make room for him. Sid fits in beside him easily and laughs almost immediately at something he says. It’s nice, Geno thinks. Sid should have something nice. He deals with missing teeth and broken bones and pulled muscles day in and day out. He deserves something soft. This is a good thing. He knows it is, but he also knows something is nagging at him, somewhere deep down his nerves are twisting. 

He shakes his head in an attempt to clear the feeling and flags down the bartender. Geno tips him well then slides his wallet back into his pocket next to his phone. The hotel isn’t far, just a few blocks, and he only had one drink. He can walk. 

He slowly makes his way to the door, stepping around waiters and waitresses and what appears to be a rather large and lively bachelorette party in which he very nearly gets entangled. 

It’s a relief when the fresh air hits him, even if it’s on the edge of being too humid. Before he can stop himself, he looks back through the mass of people to find Sid. 

He and the guy are even closer now, huddled together with the guy’s hand on Sid’s arm and Sid with his head bent so he can speak directly into his ear. 

The feelings he thought he shook off come flooding back and Geno has to step clear of the door and let it swing closed. 

He takes a deep breath and the thick air gets clogged in his lungs but it still feels better than being inside the bar. 

He pulls out his phone to make sure he’s going in the right direction then sets off down the street. He’s barely a half-block away when he hears his name being called from behind. When he turns, he sees Sid jogging to catch up. 

“Sid? What happened?”

“I —” Sid starts then stops and shakes his head. “I just … he said he wasn’t a Pens fan,” he finally says with a shrug. “So. That’s that.”

Geno blinks at him for a moment then bursts out laughing. “Crazy, Sid. Very crazy.”

Sid jams his hands in his pockets and rolls forward onto the balls of his feet. “What do you want from me? I’m loyal.”

“Yes, much too loyal. Cock block yourself.”

Sid goes red to the tips of his ears and knocks his elbow into Geno’s side. “Come on. I want to change your bandage one last time before you go to bed.”

“Job is never done,” Geno says lightly before he bumps their shoulders together and falls into step beside Sid. 


	3. Chapter 3

The team hits a wall mid-December and nothing seems to go right. 

It’s bad puck luck and months of injuries finally catching up to them and, when Geno hits his fifth game without a point, everything bubbles over. He’s pissed at himself and the refs and the stupid fucking Canucks, even though all they’ve done is play a good, hard game. 

Geno bides his time. Four minutes into the third period, he spots a borderline hit and drops gloves. He doesn’t even know who he’s fighting — the name on the back of the jersey is unfamiliar — all he knows is that his bare knuckles hit the guy’s helmet and he’s being hauled off the ice by the refs. 

His hand throbs as he stomps down the tunnel to the jeers of angry Canucks fans, who apparently want more blood than the five-minute major he was just awarded. 

Sid’s waiting for him with an ice pack and a clenched jaw and Geno really doesn’t want to fucking hear it right now. 

He sits down so heavily on the table that it creaks beneath his weight and he throws his hand out toward Sid. 

“Hurry,” Geno says. “Have five minutes.”

Sid huffs a laugh. “You think you’re going back out there tonight? Your hand is probably broken.”

“Bullshit,” Geno spits out. “Tape it, let me go.”

“Look at your hand, G.” Sid wraps his fingers around Geno’s wrist and lifts his hand. His fingers are swollen and red and Geno’s not sure he could bend them if asked. But still. 

“Tape. Sid.”

“You’re not going to bully me,” Sid tells him. “I’m not some rookie d-man who happened to be in the wrong spot at the wrong time. Stop looking for a fight. You’re not going to get it from me.”

“Fuck you,” Geno snaps and Sid rolls his eyes, completely immune to Geno’s wrath. Something about that makes Geno’s blood boil. He grits his teeth as Sid examines his hand, refusing to show how much it hurts. When Sid carefully bends his index finger, Geno bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming. 

If they kissed, Geno’s sure Sid would be able to taste blood. 

The thought hits him so hard and so clear and so out of the blue that he gasps, his heart hammering in his chest as he thinks about Sid’s lips on his. 

“Sorry,” Sid says softly, like he’s done something wrong. It takes a moment for Geno’s body to catch up to his mind as the pain in his hand floods back in. He’s not going back out tonight, no matter how much he bitches and begs. 

Sid finishes looking him over and packs his hand in ice to help with the swelling. He makes the official call that Geno won’t be returning to the game and begins to make the arrangements to send him back to Pittsburgh for further evaluation. 

Geno drags himself to the locker room and sulks until the guys come back with their heads hanging. 

Sully makes a speech about how they should all learn from this and put it behind them. They have three more games on this trip and plenty of opportunities to right the ship. He claps his hands once in summary and tells them to hit the showers, advising them to call it an early night. Before Geno can even get to his feet, Sid appears in front of him. 

“You have a flight out at five in the morning tomorrow. You should land around one o’clock and they’re expecting you at the hospital at two. You got it?”

Geno nods. “Yes, Sid —”

Sid turns away before Geno can get another word out, clearly done with the conversation and him. Geno slumps back in his too-tight stall and lets the chaos of the room swirl around him. 

Back in Pittsburgh the doctors poke and prod. Geno’s annoyed and suffering from jetlag and the only positive is the painkillers they hop him up on before they tell him he’ll need surgery. 

He’ll be out for six to eight weeks. 

The Pens tweet an update once he’s in recovery, telling the fans that his surgery was successful. The following day they tweet another announcing he’s on IR and, a few hours later, they announce a call-up from Wilkes-Barre. 

Geno doesn’t have any interest in seeing the fallout, plus it’s hard to scroll with his cast on, so he tosses his phone to the opposite side of the couch and lets the pain meds carry him away for a nap. 

When the team gets back in town six days later, they bring with them a measly two points, a day-to-day lower body injury, and a week-to-week upper body injury.

Geno can tell morale is at an all-time low, even without looking at the reactions on social media. He’s injured, but he’s still the captain and the team is still his responsibility. 

He invites them over for dinner and they talk about everything _but_ hockey and, when it’s time for them to hit the ice for practice the next afternoon, Geno is there, dressed in sweats and sneakers and ready to support them. 

Geno watches them, tucked away out of public view, just down the hall from the ice. They look good. Fast and precise. Sully doesn’t yell nearly as much as Geno was expecting him to. He tries to keep his focus on the guys but it keeps drifting to Sid, who is hanging out near the bench, hands deep inside the pockets of his Penguin-issued tracksuit as he keeps a careful eye on the ice, standing up a little straighter each time someone slips or hits the boards too hard or gets hit with an errant puck. 

A little more than a week ago Geno had wanted to kiss him and, standing here now, watching Sid intently watch the ice, he feels the same. 

He can’t blame it on adrenaline or confusing lust with anger or pain. He’s perfectly calm and he wants nothing more than to press his lips to the skin on the back of Sid’s neck, just beneath his soft, curling hair. 

“Sid.” Geno hisses his name a couple more times before Sid actually turns around, face carefully blank when he sees Geno lurking in the shadows. “We talk?”

Sid looks down the bench at the other trainers before he must decide there are enough eyes on the ice and nods.

He follows Sid back to his tiny office, still devoid of any personal knick-knacks nearly four months into the season. The only remotely interesting thing seems to be the bulk package of protein bars on the edge of his desk. 

Sid sits and Geno hovers awkwardly, unsure if he should close the door behind him or not. Sid doesn’t say anything so he leaves it open.

“What’s up?” Sid asks. He looks tired and worn out. Bye week isn’t for another month and a half but Sid looks like he needs it now. 

“Want to say sorry,” Geno starts, “for how I act after last game.” He raises his broken hand. “My last game. Was just … frustrate, you know? Didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean the _fuck you?_ ”

“No,” Geno says, embarrassed with his past self. “Mean it, but not mean it to _you_. Was mad. Mad I don’t play well, mad I get hurt, mad I can’t go back and play. I just take it out on you. Was bad. I’m sorry.”

“You know it kills me to see you get hurt, right? Any of you guys. I hate it. And I hate that I’m the guy who has to decide whether or not you’ll go back in. I get that you’re upset, but you have to know I’m on your side. Your health is the most important thing. It’s the reason why I’m here and I’m —” Sid stops and covers his mouth with his hand as he yawns and Geno tips his head to the side. 

“My apology is boring you,” he teases with a smile. Sid shakes his head. 

“No, no, no,” he rushes out, sounding very awake and brimming with Canadian politeness. 

The smile on Geno’s face widens. 

“It’s jet lag that doesn’t seem to want to let go. Plus I’m still unpacking boxes. When my place is a mess I don’t really sleep well. And,” he waves a hand, gesturing around the room and, Geno guesses, the organization as a whole. “I’ve been busy.”

“Not done unpacking and you’ve been in Pittsburgh for how long?”

“I know, I know, it’s awful.”

“I can help,” Geno says without thinking.

“It’s fine. I’m mostly done anyways.”

“Is lie, Sid?”

“Yeah,” Sid says. “A little bit.”

“Let me help. Have lots of free time now,” he says as he points to the cast. “Can bring dinner. Probably haven’t had time to eat a good meal. Only protein shakes and those gross little bars.”

“I eat good food,” Sid answers.

Geno hums and looks pointedly at the box of bars on his desk. Sid rolls his eyes. 

“Fine,” Sid says, “but this food had better be good.”

Geno beams at him. “For you, Sid. Only the best.”

*

“Tell me again where you got this?” 

Geno grins as he picks another sports autobiography out of the box at his feet. They haven’t made a dent in the cardboard boxes that fill up Sid’s apartment, mainly because Sid’s been hunkered down at the coffee table in the living room, stuffing his face with the food that Geno brought. 

“From Russian place on Mount Washington. I go there a lot when I first come here. Remind me of home, little bit.”

Sid nods as he digs into the plov before switching back to the stroganoff. Geno went a bit crazy with food, unsure if there was anything that Sid would flat-out refuse to eat. So he played it safe and ordered a half-dozen different dishes and hoped there was something that would appeal to Sid’s palate. It turns out he didn’t need to worry because Sid stuck a fork in each container and is happily going around and around the circle. 

“It’s incredible,” Sid says. “I’m going to have to go there. Do they have dessert?” 

Dessert was his ace in the hole. Even if Sid hated all the main courses, Geno was sure he’d get him with baklava or honey cake. “Still in the bag,” Geno says as he nods to the bag on the counter. “Was going to be a surprise. Or reward, for after we unpack, you know, reason why I’m here.” 

Sid flaps a hand at him and stands up and Geno watches him pad across the room to the kitchen in bare feet. He looks so different now, out of Pens gear and in a pair of well worn jeans and a threadbare Acadia University hoodie. He looks softer somehow, more relaxed. Maybe it’s the food or the familiarity of his own apartment or maybe it’s the knowledge that he won’t be handed a broken tooth or need to tend to a split lip at a moment's notice.

Whatever it is, Geno is incredibly endeared and his heart warms at the delighted sound Sid makes when he looks inside the bag at the cakes. 

“Just let me get a few bites of this and then I’ll help you,” Sid says and Geno rolls his eyes. 

“Sure, Sid.”

“I’m serious. Just one bite.” He sinks his fork into the cake then sticks it in his mouth. He leans heavily on the counter and moans. “Oh my god. Two more bites.”

“Take time, Sid,” Geno tells him. “Is okay.”

“No, no.” Sid takes one more bite then puts down the cake and the fork. “I’m going to help. It would be rude to make you do all the work.” Sid flips open a box labeled _kitchen_ and narrows his eyes at the bookcase Geno has been filling. “You are sorting those alphabetically, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sid,” Geno answers with a put upon sigh. “Of course.” He pulls two more books out of the box then turns to Sid. “Wait, you mean English alphabet?”

Sid blinks at him and Geno laughs. 

“Kidding, Sid, of course English. I teach you Russian some other time.”

“Just the dirty words, though, right?”

One of the books slips from Geno’s hands and he scrambles to pick it up, trying to decipher what Sid meant at the same time. “Umm.”

“I mean, that’s what you’re always yelling on the ice, isn’t it? I might not know what the word means but I get the tone.”

“Oh!” Geno can feel his face heat. That’s not at all what he thought Sid was talking about. “Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes is just words, you know? They don’t understand me so I can say whatever. Is more fun that way, just sound angry and they get scared.”

Sid laughs softly and abandons the kitchen box for an unlabeled one closer to Geno that’s filled with bubble-wrapped framed photos. When Sid takes the first one out, Geno can see that it’s a picture of him from a few years ago. Sid still has a clear baby face and he’s standing in front of an older couple and beside a smaller blonde girl. It’s his family. 

“You have sister?” Geno asks and Sid nods. 

“Yeah. She’s almost ten years younger.”

“Big difference. You close?”

Sid nods and sets the picture down. “Yeah, actually. I feel like I was able to watch her grow up. I understood that it wasn’t just a new baby in the house, it was my sister, you know? I knew I had to protect her and watch after her. I helped my parents out a lot. It was only a few years before I could baby sit on my own, and I got to teach her things. My name was the first word she said. It was pretty cool.”

“She still in Canada?”

“Minnesota,” Sid says as he takes out another photo, this one of a happy yellow Lab with a lake in the background. “She’s in school. She plays hockey.”

“What position?”

“Goalie.”

“Ah. She a little bit …” Geno’s eyes go wide and Sid laughs. 

“Yeah. Like a typical goalie. I said I had to protect her but that didn’t last long. She never had a problem sticking up for herself.”

Sid tells him a story about his mother getting a call from Taylor’s school when Taylor was eight years old. Apparently she got into it with the class bully and Sid’s mom refused to punish her. Instead the entire family went out to dinner that night followed by ice cream, even though it was in the dead of winter. 

Sid absolutely shines when he talks about his family and Geno can’t help himself. He puts down the book he’s holding and reaches out and touches the soft skin along the inside of Sid’s wrist. 

Sid’s mouth snaps shut mid-sentence and he looks up at Geno. 

“Have dinner with me,” Geno says. 

Sid’s eyebrows knit together as he casts a backwards glance toward the take-out containers on the coffee table. 

“Real dinner,” Geno continues. “We go out. A date.”

Sid goes perfectly still for a moment before he pulls his hand away and steps back. 

“What? What are you talking about?”

“A date,” Geno says slowly, like Sid’s the one with English as a second language. “Want to date you.”

Sid stares at him for a moment then shakes his head. “C’mon.”

“Come on what? Am serious.”

“Do you even like guys?”

“Sometimes, yes. Been a long time.”

“So you just decided to jump back into it with me?”

“Is not _just_ ,” Geno says and Sid huffs. “Been a few weeks.”

“Oh,” Sid says with a laugh. “Well then, if you’ve really given it some thought. You know we can’t do this.”

“Why not? What they do, trade me? Good luck.”

“Fire me,” Sid shoots back. “That would be easy.”

“Fire you for liking men? Sounds like lawsuit.”

“They’d fire me for liking _you.”_

Geno grins. “So you like me?”

Sid doesn’t look amused. “Please don’t put me in this position. It was hard enough when I thought it was one-sided.” 

“Is not though.”

“Geno,” Sid warns. “Please. It’s just …” He trails off and sighs. “We can’t. We just can’t.”

“Okay,” Geno says with a nod. “Think maybe I should go.”

“You don’t have to,” Sid says quickly. “You don’t have to stay and unpack my shit but you could just stay. You barely ate anything and we can still hang out. Watch TV or something. I have that set up.”

“Think I should go, Sid,” Geno says quietly. “I see you at practice, okay?” 

He slips by Sid, careful not to touch but still close enough to feel the heat that Sid gives off. Geno wants to stop and lean into it but he forces himself to keep going. 

He’s almost to the door when Sid says his name. 

“At least take some cake with you,” Sid says and Geno shuts his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. He likes Sid so much. 

“You keep,” Geno says as he opens the apartment door. “Have good night, Sid.”

*

“All right everyone, that’s enough. Hey! Listen up!”

The room falls silent as Sully clears his throat. 

“Thank you,” Sully says. “Great job out there tonight. Way to stick with it.”

Geno leans against the doorframe as the guys strip out of their sweaty jerseys, tossing them toward the bin Dana set in the middle of the room. 

It was a great win. A come-from-behind victory against the Bruins with scoring from all four lines and great goaltending, especially in the third period. 

Best of all, no injuries. They end the game with the same number of players they started with, a rarity this season. 

“I’m proud of you,” Sully continues. “This is the kind of play I know this team is capable of and, if we continue on this path, good things will come. Have fun tonight, enjoy your day off tomorrow, I’ll see you all on Monday, when we’ll get back to work. All right?”

The team answers with affirmative grunts and Horny passes the firefighter’s helmet to Teddy for his game-winning goal. Teddy puts it on and repeats the well worn “Let’s keep it going boys” before hanging it in his stall and continuing to undress. 

A handful of guys talk to the media and, after the journalists and the camera crews leave, the real celebration begins. 

“We are going out to get you laid!” Tanger yells as a bunch of the guys pile on Teddy, trying their hardest to mess up his hair. “Everyone is going out tonight, no excuses. Geno, I’m talking to you.”

“Can’t boss around your captain,” Geno says lazily and Tanger rolls his eyes. “Didn’t even play tonight. Was not my win.”

“Dude, that’s the fucking point. You’re still the captain and every time we win we do it for you.”

“Aww,” Geno says as he lays a dramatic hand over his own heart. “So sweet.”

“Whatever. You’re coming out with us. I don’t even know the last time I saw you pick up.”

“I do just fine,” Geno snaps at him. “Is none of your business.”

“Yeah right,” Tanger says. “You have to be going crazy. I mean, can you even jerk off with your left hand?” he asks. A few of the guys around them laugh. “Let’s go out and find someone that’ll do it for you.”

Across the room Geno sees Sid’s jaw set. He had been talking with some of the other trainers but clearly eavesdropping as well. 

It’s been two weeks since that night in Sid’s apartment and, for Geno, the hurt still feels fresh. 

He hasn’t been moping — he refuses to mope — but he hasn’t been handling it as well as Sid. 

Sid’s been playing it off like it never happened. He’s been striking up conversations with Geno about the Steelers and how his hand is healing and the best spots to get sushi in their landlocked state. 

Geno’s not ready for that. He almost wishes Sid had flat-out rejected him because he didn’t feel the same way. It would be easier to move on from. As it is now, they’re both living with the knowledge that they both feel the same way, that if they met under different circumstances they could be together or, at the very least, try for it. 

“Give me one reason you can’t go out tonight,” Tanger says, startling Geno from his thoughts. 

Truthfully, Geno doesn’t have a good reason, at least not one that he can talk about. 

“That’s what I thought,” Tanger says as he claps him on the back. “Leave the suit on. It makes you look rich.”

“Am rich.”

Tanger grins. “Even better.”

He wanders back to his stall and, when Geno looks across the room, Sid’s already gone. 

*

He had forgotten about how much he liked doing this — hanging out with all his teammates, watching the young ones make fools out of themselves in front of the pretty women they try to talk to. 

It’s fun and it would be so easy for him to have too many drinks and put himself out there. He could take someone home, have a good time and wake up in the morning with a smile on his face. 

It’s what he should do. 

But he can’t seem to finish the alcohol in his glass and the thought of someone touching him — of touching someone — makes his skin itch. It’s not what he wants. It’s not _who_ he wants. 

“So.” Tanger drops down beside him and frowns at Geno’s still half-full drink. He grabs a shot off the table and tips it into the glass. Geno wrinkles his nose and sets it down.

“What the fuck, man? Drink up.”

“Shouldn’t,” Geno says. “Still on pain meds.”

Tanger looks skeptical and justifiably so. Geno’s been off the medication for a while now. 

“Okay then,” Tanger relents. “Don’t drink. Go dance instead. I know you like to do that.”

“Usually being drunk helps.”

“Well, you can’t have everything,” Tanger says as he knocks back a shot. “What do you think, you see anyone you like?”

Geno slowly shakes his head. “No.” _Not here._ “Why you care so much? Why you even still here? Don't you have wife and little baby at home?”

Tanger’s face falls and he draws in on himself. “Cath has been spending more time in Montreal. It’s … I don’t know.”

Geno thinks back, trying to remember the last time he saw her at a Pens event. It’s been a while. 

“So, why you here?”

“Because there’s no one at home,” Tanger snaps. He reaches for another shot but doesn’t drink it. 

“So call her. Is not too late, right? Should still be up. If not, leave a message, text. Fuck, go there.”

“Go to Montreal?”

“Not so far away. Have tomorrow off, come back early Monday before practice.”

Tanger shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? You want to fix this, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Love is hard work. If something goes funny you have to work to fix it. Not going to fix it sitting here trying to get me drunk.” 

Tanger ducks his head. “I guess I was looking for a distraction. But seriously, what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting funny lately. Quieter. Usually we can’t get you to shut up.”

Geno shrugs and Tanger shakes his head.

“No, no way. I’m not buying that. It’s something.”

“I just think … maybe too old for random hookups. Want to find something real.”

“Oh, I can find you something real! Cath has tons of friends who …” Tanger trails off and squints at Geno. “Or did you already find it?”

“I thought,” Geno admits. “But, won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Is complicated. Just won’t work.”

“You just told me that love is hard,” Tanger says, index finger pointed in Geno’s direction. “You have to work on it.”

“Is not love,” Geno says. “Is just a maybe.”

“And you’re okay with it always being a maybe.”

“Nothing I can do about it.”

“Not by sitting here there’s not,” Tanger says smugly, happy to throw Geno’s words back at him. “You should go and I should go and we should fix this.” 

“Now you have all the answers?”

“I’m your A,” Tanger says as he holds out his fist for Geno to bump. “I always have your back.”

It has started to snow by the time Geno turns onto Sid’s street. 

Everything is still and quiet. He has the radio turned low, barely audible over the sound of the wipers scraping against the windshield. 

He doesn’t see Sid’s car in the parking lot of the apartment complex, but it isn’t well lit and he’s come too far to turn away now. 

He takes the elevator up to Sid’s floor and heads down the hall to his door, nerves churning inside him. He’s not sure what he’ll say to Sid. He doesn’t want to beg and he wants to respect Sid’s decisions and feelings but he can still ask, just one more time. 

He knocks on the door and waits. Then knocks again and waits some more. 

There’s silence from behind the door and Geno sighs and takes out his phone and pulls up Sid’s name from his contact list. He should have done this first but he wasn’t thinking clearly. 

Sid picks up after the second ring. 

“Geno?”

Geno melts against the door at the sound of his voice. “Sid. You home?”

Sid’s quiet for a moment before he sighs. “Geno. I’m outside your house.”


	4. Chapter 4

Geno flashes his lights at Sid’s car before he pulls into his driveway and opens the gate. Sid follows and parks beside him. They turn their headlights off as the light above the garage comes on. 

They both step out at the same time and Sid stares at him over the roof of Geno’s sports car. 

The snow collects on Sid’s black hair and the shoulders of his coat and the light on the garage casts heavy shadows across his face. 

“Are you going to invite me in,” Sid asks, his breath condensing in front of his face and drifting upwards. 

Geno tips his head toward the house and starts up the path, hearing Sid’s boots crunching in the snow behind him. 

“Went out tonight,” Geno says as he punches in the code for the front door. “What if I bring someone home? I’d have to tell you to leave.”

The door unlocks and Sid puts his hand on Geno’s back as he opens it and they both step through. As soon as the door closes Geno finds himself pressed back against it and Sid’s mouth is hot on his. 

Geno tries to keep up. He clutches Sid’s shoulders and sweeps his tongue against his lips but Sid moves on and drops his mouth to his neck. 

“Would you really have sent me away?” Sid asks as he nips at his skin. “Could you have done that or would you have just called a cab for whoever you brought home with you?”

“Yes,” Geno answers. He swears he can feel Sid’s smile against his throat, a clear sign that Sid knows he’s teasing. “Send you home but think about you the whole time.”

“You’d think about me if I showed up or not.”

Geno pulls back, his head thunks against the door as Sid chases after his mouth. 

“Yes,” Geno says seriously and Sid gives him space, their only point of contact are Sid’s hands holding lightly onto his hips. “Always think about you. I go out tonight but could never bring someone home. Can’t think of someone else standing here. I don’t want that. Was at your apartment when I call you.”

Sid’s mouth drops open and Geno leans in so their foreheads are pressed together. 

“Wanted to see you,” Geno tells him. “Wanted to ask once more.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Sid says softly. “I’m still worried. I can’t lose this job, it’s too important to me and I don’t want to be a secret but …” He trails off and Geno resists the urge to kiss him. Whatever Sid is thinking needs to be said. He needs to hear it. “I don’t want to miss out on this.” He squeezes Geno’s hips. “I don’t want not to try just because I’m afraid.”

Geno does kiss him then, because how could he not? The curve of Sid’s smile is sweet against his lips and Geno hums before he breaks the connection. 

“Come,” he says with a tip of his head as he runs his left hand up and down Sid’s arm. “Get warm.”

They take their shoes off by the door and Geno helps Sid out of his coat before Sid returns the favor. They laugh as the coat sleeve gets stuck on Geno’s cast and Sid asks how he ever manages to get it off on his own. 

“Is a lot of —” He flaps his arm violently until the jacket gets free of the cast and Sid is leaning against the wall to support himself because he’s laughing so hard. “Is much better with second person,” Geno tells him and Sid takes a breath to calm himself before leaning up to kiss the corner of Geno’s mouth. 

“Show me around,” Sid says and Geno leads him down the hall and into the kitchen, where Sid stops and stares. “This is bigger than my entire apartment.”

“I should learn how to cook,” Geno says. “Get more use out of it.”

“You don’t know how to cook?”

“I do okay,” Geno defends. “I live. Big meals though?” He shakes his head. “Not so good. Maybe I learn, cook you dinner?” 

“I’d like that,” Sid says and Geno makes a mental note either to call his mother for recipes or watch some YouTube videos. 

“If you hungry I can make you something small. Eggs? Cereal? Am okay at breakfast. Or maybe you thirsty? Have any kind of liquor you could want, or maybe wine?” He pops the fridge open and looks inside. “Water, Gatorade, beer, orange juice, cranberry. Anything sound good?”

Geno looks over his shoulder at Sid, who is leaning against the kitchen island with his head tipped to the side in thought. 

“I think maybe I just want you to take me to bed.”

Geno shuts the door hard enough that one of the magnets falls and rattles to the floor at his feet. 

“Can do that,” he says. “Can for sure do that.” 

He grabs Sid by the hand and pulls him toward the stairs, Sid laughing the whole time as Geno nearly trips over his feet on the fourth step. 

“Careful,” Sid says. “You don’t need a broken hand _and_ leg. Try explaining that to the media.”

“If they see you right now then they understand.”

Geno doesn’t bother closing the bedroom door behind them, just pulls Sid in until Sid sets his feet and won’t move. 

“Okay?” Geno asks and Sid nods, looking past him toward the bed. 

“I’m fine. I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”

“Is okay,” Geno says quietly. He brings Sid’s hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it before turning it over and kissing his palm. Then he kisses the inside of Sid’s wrist. “Can just sleep. No rush.”

Sid looks unconvinced. “No, I definitely want it.” He shakes his shoulders and takes a deep breath. “Kiss me. That’ll help.”

They kiss and move slowly to the bed until the back of Geno’s knees hit the mattress. He sits down and, instead of Sid following, he stands between Geno’s knees and pulls his shirt over his head. Geno makes a soft noise of interest as Sid’s hands go to his belt and one of loss when Sid steps away to make enough room to slide his jeans off his hips. 

“You can touch me,” Sid says as he moves back between Geno’s knees. He lays his arms across Geno’s shoulders as Geno brings his hands up to dance along Sid’s sides and stomach until he finally drops his left to cup Sid through his boxers. 

Sid takes a sharp breath in as Geno’s fingers press. 

“Still feel nervous?”

Sid exhales a shaky laugh. “No, I’m feeling a lot better. How about you?”

Geno shrugs lazily. “Could be better.”

Sid grins and tugs at the collar of Geno’s dress shirt. 

“Take this off,” Sid says, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

Geno’s sure that Sid’s mouth is magic. He kisses his way down Geno’s chest to the jut of his hip bones then swallows him down, head bobbing until Geno’s good hand is threaded in Sid’s hair and his broken one is splayed out uselessly at his side. He lifts it a few times only to remember it’s in a cast and set it back down. Then Sid hollows his cheeks and looks up through his lashes and Geno’s hand jerks and smacks against the side of Sid’s head. 

Sid pulls off with a grunt. “Ow.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Geno says, soothing his good hand through Sid’s hair, curling his fingers around the shell of his ear and finally cradling the back of his head. “I’m sorry.”

Sid laughs and drops his forehead against Geno’s thigh. 

“Come up here,” Geno says, gently pulling him up. “Come here.”

Sid climbs up the bed and straddles Geno’s hips and Geno presses a kiss to the side of Sid’s head. 

“You okay?” he asks and Sid nods. 

“I’m fine,” Sid laughs. 

“Stupid cast. Can’t wait to get it off. Will be much better without it.”

“I think you’re doing okay,” Sid says. “But maybe keep that hand down?”

Geno nods and tips his face up for a kiss. 

They wind up tangled together, frantic and panting as their hips roll and stutter, getting the other close then backing away just to be a tease. 

“You’re such an ass,” Sid whines and Geno barks a laugh before dragging his thumb across Sid’s nipple just to feel his whole body go taut beneath him. “Keep doing that.”

“Maybe,” Geno says as he removes his hand. “Maybe not.”

Sid scowls and Geno grins then drops down and presses the flat of his tongue against his nipple. Sid’s back arches as he moans and thrusts his hips up, seeking friction. Geno presses down as he closes his lips around him and tugs it gently between his teeth. 

“I’m gonna come,” Sid gasps suddenly and Geno pulls away. He’s not at all surprised when Sid follows, pushing him back flat against the bed and pinning him down. 

They’ve both been on the edge for what feels like hours now, bodies slick with sweat. Sid’s eyes are dark, his lips deep red, and Geno would be happy to lie here forever, just looking up at him. 

“I’m—” Sid starts and stops and all his hard-edged annoyance seems to slip away as he leans down and kisses Geno, featherlight and sweet. “I’m gonna make you come,” he says as he wraps his hand around both their dicks. “I want to watch you.”

Geno’s mind goes completely blank as Sid works the both of them over. All he can do is nod. 

Sid’s hand feels huge and hot, twisting on the upstroke and squeezing as it slides down. Geno’s eyelids flutter and threaten to close. 

“No,” Sid says. “C’mon, let me see you. Please?” he asks and Geno keeps his eyes open and locked on Sid’s. Sid’s eyes are dark and beautiful with specks of gold breaking through. Geno bites down on his own lip but Sid brings his free hand up and works it free. 

“Let me hear you,” he says, thumb pressing into the middle of Geno’s bottom lip. Geno moans. “There you go. Tell me what you want. What do you like?”

“You,” Geno says on a breathy sigh and Sid gasps and falls forward against Geno, burying his face in the side of his neck as he comes. Geno follows shortly after with the weight of Sid’s body holding him down and his lips biting a mark into his skin. 

They’re still for a moment, their harsh panting echoing through the quiet of the bedroom, until Sid falls to the side, keeping his leg thrown over Geno’s thighs as they both try to come back down. 

“I think I’ll take a Gatorade now,” Sid says between breaths and Geno laughs. 

Naked in the kitchen, Geno grabs two bottles of Gatorade out of the fridge. He’s about to head back upstairs to Sid when his stomach rumbles. He hasn’t eaten since the handful of pretzels he had in the press box during the game, so he sets the bottles down and reopens the fridge. 

When he comes back to the bedroom, loaded down with cheese and crackers and sliced apples, Sid is sitting up against the headboard, tapping away at his phone. 

Geno freezes in the doorway, watching, until Sid looks up. 

“I’m just checking emails,” Sid says. “It’s mostly junk. You okay?”

“Am fine,” Geno says with a shake of his head. “Don’t know why I thought …” He trails off. Sid doesn’t even have social media. “Sorry.” He crosses the room and dumps the bottles onto the bed so he can carefully set down the tray of food. 

“Wow,” Sid says, crawling down the bed, “look at that. I was wondering what was taking you so long. I had no idea you were preparing a feast. I thought you said you couldn’t cook?”

“I do my best,” Geno answers as he picks up at Gatorade and tucks it against his body with one arm so he can open it with his left hand. “Here. Know you need,” he says with a wink and Sid rolls his eyes and takes it. 

“You should have called me,” Sid says after he takes a sip. “I would have helped you carry all this up.”

Geno shrugs and settles onto the bed. “Was no bother.”

Sid stacks a slice of cheddar cheese on a Ritz cracker but pauses right before he brings it to his mouth. “Is it okay to eat here?” 

“Already have to change sheets,” Geno says with a sidelong glance at the wet spot on the bed. “Don’t think crumbs are going to hurt any.”

Sid shrugs, a _fair enough_ gesture, and pops the snack into his mouth while Geno reaches for a slice of apple. 

“I’m going to ask,” Sid says after he swallows, “and you don’t have to answer but … you and other guys … you said it’s been a while.”

“Is that question?”

Sid huffs. “I just want to know what’s up, if you want to talk about it, that is. If not … that’s fine, too.” He plays with the cap of the Gatorade bottle and Geno can tell he’s nervous. 

“I mean,” Geno starts, “is not much to talk about. When I first come here, everything is so different, you know? Alone a lot, no one speaks Russian, was hard for me to get comfortable. I meet this waiter at Russian tea place. He's young, remind me of home, we fool around a little bit. I stop because I got scared, you know. What if he says something? Penguins get mad at me, Russia gets _big_ mad at me.” Geno shakes his head. He remembers being eighteen and terrified. “I still think about it sometimes. No way to prove we did anything, not now anyways, after all these years but … when I see you on phone I just think —”

“I would never,” Sid says quickly and Geno nods.

“I know. I know you. But is hard feeling to shake.”

“So was that the last time?”

“Last time here,” Geno says. “Back home —” He pauses and laughs when Sid’s eyes widen. “What? You think just because Putin don’t like there’s no gay people?”

“No,” Sid says. “I’m just surprised you’d take that risk.”

“There are men with more to lose than me. We keep each other’s secrets. Last time was a few years ago, feel bad about the Olympics so I went out and found a way to make me feel better.”

Sid nods and flips a cracker between his fingers. 

“What about you?” Geno says. “Your turn.”

“I never really thought about it, I guess, growing up. I’d get confused or annoyed when my relatives asked me if I had a girlfriend yet. They started when I was like, six. What was I even supposed to say to that? In middle school my friends started seriously talking about girls and, by high school, almost everyone had a girlfriend and guys started giving me shit about it. I always said I was too busy between school work and hockey practice. Sometimes I lied and said my parents wouldn’t allow me to date, which basically only made the teasing worse. I didn’t actually do anything until my sophomore year of college. His name was Anthony. He showed me what I had been missing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Geno says flatly and Sid raises an eyebrow.

“Are you jealous?” Sid asks, eyes dancing with delight. 

“Maybe I just don’t like talking about other men in my bed,” Geno says as he pushes himself up on his knees. 

“We were both nineteen and on a twin mattress in a dorm room. There’s not much there to be jealous of.”

Geno crawls across the tray of food, knocking the crackers onto the bed and crushing a few in the process. Sid laughs as Geno overbalances, causing them both to fall back onto the mattress. He grips Sid’s hips and drags his lips along Sid’s neck until Sid melts like putty beneath him. 

“I show you what you been missing,” Geno whispers and Sid sighs happily. 

*

In the morning Geno leaves a sleeping Sid in bed while he slips away to take a shower. Sid really doesn’t need to see the plastic condom contraption he has to pull onto his arm to protect the cast from the water. It’s too early in their relationship for that. 

_Relationship._

Geno lets the water warm as he mulls over the word. It’s been ages since he’s had a real one — one he wanted to take care of and let grow. He wants that with Sid. 

Sid’s still asleep when Geno gets out of the shower. He’s on his back, starfished diagonally across the bed, taking up as much space as he possibly can, and the sheets are pooled low across his waist. In the watery morning light that’s slipping through the shades, Geno can see the marks he left behind on Sid’s pale skin, fingerprints on his hips and bite marks on his chest. They’re nearly a perfect match to the ones on his own body. 

Sid stirs and blinks himself awake, jumping slightly when he sees Geno standing over him before relaxing back into the bed. 

“Is it morning?” he asks, voice warm and rough as he raises his arms above his head and stretches. “How late did I sleep in?”

“Not so bad,” Geno says softly as he perches on the edge of the bed. “Can sleep more if you want.”

Sid shakes his head at the same time he yawns hard enough that Geno’s jaw aches in sympathy. “I’m awake,” he says, then frowns at Geno’s wet hair. “You took a shower without me?”

“Is not very sexy with this,” Geno says as he holds up his cast. “Ugly thing that goes over it. Don’t have to see.”

“I know all about that,” Sid says, turning on his side and laying his hand across Geno’s thigh. “I was the one that gave it to you.”

“Will be time for that later. Right now I’m going to go make breakfast. You can sleep more or take a shower. Maybe even a bath if you want.”

Sid wrinkles his nose at the idea of a bath and Geno runs a hand through Sid’s messy hair. “I should shower,” Sid says. “Then I’ll be right down.”

“Is really no rush,” Geno tells him. “Eggs and toast okay?”

“More than.”

Geno leans down for a kiss and Sid jerks away. “Morning breath,” he says and Geno rolls his eyes. 

“I brushed my teeth.”

“I was talking about me.”

“Cute you think I care,” Geno says as he lays his hand on the side of Sid’s face and finally gets his kiss. 

Downstairs Geno puts the kettle on and digs the French-press coffee maker he rarely ever uses out of the cabinet. He knows Sid would drink whatever was put in front of him, he’s polite like that, but he also knows Sid greatly prefers coffee, always making a beeline for it before an early morning practice.

While the water is warming in the kettle, Geno sets two slices of bread in the toaster and cracks six eggs into a bowl to scramble. 

He’s careful to keep the heat on medium instead of cranking it to high like he usually does and slowly moves the eggs around the pan with a spatula so they cook evenly. He pops the toast down as the kettle whistles and fills the French press before using the rest of the hot water to make his tea. 

Everything's coming together when he hears Sid’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Good timing,” Geno says as he pulls plates from the cupboard. “Coffee should be ready. How do you like it?”

He turns and finds Sid standing in the doorway, fully dressed right down to his socks, looking incredibly apprehensive. 

“Sid,” Geno says with a sigh, “we had sex like, three times last night. Can’t still be nervous.”

“It’s morning,” Sid says. “Things can be different in the morning.”

“Different from when I kiss you twenty minutes ago? Nothing has changed for me. Has it changed for you?” 

Sid shakes his head and Geno smiles. 

“Then is fine. Come sit. Let me feed you.”

Sid takes his coffee with a splash of cream and no sugar and he doesn’t seem to care that he takes his first sip while it’s still way too hot. 

They sit at the breakfast nook in the kitchen and Geno stretches his legs out so he can knock his foot against Sid’s. Sid tries to hide his smile by shoving more eggs into his mouth. 

After they empty their plates Sid insists on clearing the table, telling Geno that he’s already done more than enough. Geno knows not to fight him, so he sits back and watches Sid move around his kitchen, gathering up dirty dishes and wiping down the counter. 

When he’s finished he clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the counter as he tries for casual and cool and fails spectacularly. 

“So,” he says. “Should I —” 

Geno sighs and pushes himself to his feet. “Come back to bed, Sid. Have whole day off.”

Some time later, between round two of sex and round three of napping, Sid says, “So this is going to be a huge secret.” Geno frowns. 

He was just about to drift off, arm wrapped securely around Sid’s chest and face tucked into Sid’s shoulder. 

“I mean, that’s not a problem,” Sid continues. He’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Geno watches his lips move as he talks. “It’s completely fine and I know I’ll be careful and I won’t tell anyone, but things can happen and … nobody knows .... about you and guys? I just … I want to know how ruined your life will be if this gets out.”

“Not ruined.”

“Geno,” Sid sighs, “on a scale of one to ten.”

“Zero.”

Sid shakes his head and pushes himself up so he’s sitting against the headboard. “I knew you weren’t going to take this seriously.”

“Am serious,” Geno tells him. 

“You’re not. Or at least you’re not really thinking about it. You have a lot to lose here, Geno.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Do you?” Geno does. He can only imagine what his parents would think and, while he’s sure the Penguins organization would issue a statement saying they support him no matter what, there are going to be fans who will turn on him. They’ll burn his jersey. They’ll make signs. They’ll scream obscenities at him. And that’s just his own fans, nevermind the ones who already hate him and the abuse he’ll have to endure out on the ice from opposing players. It’ll be hell. 

“Is it worth it?” Sid asks softly. “You won’t break my heart if you say no, at least not right now you won’t. But I’d like to know before things get too deep. Before it does hurt.” 

Geno thinks. He could lose family and country and fans. Life as he knows it would change forever. And for what?

He looks up at Sid, with his tousled hair and sleepy eyes. When he leans up to kiss him, Sid doesn’t hesitate to kiss him back. 

It’s for that. That makes it worth it. 


	5. Chapter 5

Geno adjusts the resistance on the bike then turns his head to watch Sid. He’s talking to Jared, who is perched on a bike at the opposite end of the row, nodding along as Jared points to different places along his right leg. He’s been a game-time decision for three games now and Geno can tell Jared’s getting antsy. 

Geno knows the feeling. 

“Hey! Geno!” Tanger calls across the room. He’s sweaty from lifting weights and Geno wrinkles his nose and dodges the towel that’s thrown at him. “Well,” he says as he steps up beside the bike and throws an arm over the handles. “I was going to ask you how your night went but the answer is written all over your neck. God, I haven’t seen hickeys like that since high school.” Tanger reaches out a finger to poke and Geno slaps it away. “Looks like you had fun.”

Geno glances down the row of bikes toward Sid and Canner. They don’t seem to be paying attention but still …

“Leave it,” Geno warns, but that only makes Tanger grin harder. 

“Hey, Sid,” he calls and Geno flails, long legs tangling as he tries to get off the bike. “Do you have an ice pack for Geno’s neck? A hickey is a bruise, right?”

Geno gets off the bike but there’s not much he can do now. His teammates are already laughing and Sid is already coming over. 

“Medical supplies are for medical emergencies,” Sid says, “so unless a puck sucked on your neck …”

Tanger barks a laugh as someone down the hall yells for everyone to get into the locker room and get dressed for practice. The guys start to file out and Tanger walks backwards, stepping over a weight that someone left out. 

“They’ll fade in a few days,” he tells Geno. “I’m glad your _maybe_ turned out to be a _definitely_.” He turns and jogs out of the room, leaving Sid and Geno alone.

“I’m sorry about your neck,” Sid says seriously. “I didn’t realize.”

“Is no big deal.”

“But the guys are gonna talk. They already are.”

“They talk about how I have sex. Is not a bad thing, not to me. Just lucky they can’t see yours.” He tugs at the zipper of Sid’s pullover. “You can hide.”

Sid makes sure the zipper is pulled all the way up. “It’s a perk. So what’s up, if you don’t want to talk about the …” He gestures to Geno’s neck.

“When can I skate again?”

“When your cast comes off.”

“No, not when I play, when can I skate.”

“When your cast comes off.”

“Sid —”

“If something happens, if you fall, you won’t be able to properly brace yourself and you could end up rebreaking the bones that are still healing. The cast isn’t designed to protect against things like that.”

“How I’m gonna fall? No one will be near me. Is not like I’m avoiding check.”

“People fall all the time. You hit a chip on the ice or take an edge.”

“Will go so slow, Sid, please. Am dying not being able to skate.”

“It’s a huge risk. If you break those bones again you could be out for the rest of the season.”

“Sid, please,” Geno begs and Sid rolls his eyes. 

“You can’t do that, just because we’re …” He trails off and gestures between them. “It’s not going to work.”

“Do what?”

“Pout like that and make your eyes all —” He points to Geno’s eyes and Geno grins. 

“Eyes always like this,” Geno says and Sid scoffs. “C’mon, Sid, please. Just five minutes after practice.”

“When the ice is at its worst?”

“Then before. Just a few minutes. Is not right to not skate, not for me. Is like … would you take painter away from paint or writer away from —”

“Oh, my god,” Sid interrupts. “Enough. Five minutes, I’m timing you.”

“Yes! Thank you!” He brings his hands up like he’s going to cup Sid’s face then immediately drops them. “If we were _really_ alone I’d kiss you right now.”

“You’ll have to save it for later,” Sid says dryly. “And now you have four minutes.”

Geno doesn’t realize how much he missed skating until he’s out there on the ice. He feels like crying. 

He knows there are fans sitting in the bleachers taking photos and videos of him through the glass and that Sid is keeping a watchful eye by the bench door but, at the same time, he feels completely alone and at peace. 

He slows to a stop in front of Sid, whose look has turned from critical to fond. 

“Did you have fun?” he asks. Geno nods. He’s slightly out of breath, not from being out of shape or practice but from the emotion of it. It feels like he’ll never be able to draw enough air into his lungs. “I’m glad,” Sid says and Geno knows he means it. 

There are guys coming down the hall, bulky and awkward in their gear, and Geno steps close to Sid on the pretense of letting them pass. 

“If we alone,” Geno whispers, “I’d do more than kiss you.”

Rusty passes behind them, followed closely by Jake. 

Sid tracks them with his eyes onto the ice then looks back to Geno. 

“Save it for later,” he says. “Now go take your skates off. You’re making me nervous.”

Somehow, Geno gets out of the practice facility before Sid. It’s the upside of being injured — he doesn’t need to talk to the media.

He texts Sid the code for his front gate and then the one for his front door, just in case. 

Sid doesn’t text him back but, when Geno hears a car pulling up the drive, he knows it can only be one person. 

He gets to the door before Sid has a chance to punch in the numbers. Sid has his phone out and his hand raised near the keypad. 

“The number you gave me for the gate was wrong,” Sid says. “You flipped the last two numbers. I felt like an idiot sitting out there in my car, punching the same ones over and over. I was afraid your neighbors were going to call the cops. Thankfully, I figured it out.”

“So smart,” Geno coos as he grabs the front of Sid’s coat and hauls him inside. He backs Sid against the front door then steps in close. “We alone now.”

Sid hums and holds his chin up. Geno can just barely see a mouth-shaped mark peeking out from the collar of his coat. “And it is later.”

Geno grins as he ducks his head to steal a kiss. 

*

The team heads up to Buffalo the following day. That night Sid looks surprised to open his hotel room door to find Geno standing on the other side. 

“I thought you went out with the guys?”

“I did,” Geno says. “Came back.”

“Just like that?”

“We had dinner …” Geno pauses and looks down the hallway. It’s empty, but still. “I come in?”

Sid steps back to give Geno space to walk through. 

“Guys were going out after. Bar or something.” He shrugs. “I say my hand was bothering me so I was going back to hotel.”

“And they believed it?” 

Geno shrugs. “Guess so. If not they don’t think I’m here. But now that I am …” He walks his fingers up Sid’s chest until both hands are clasped behind Sid’s neck. 

“I don’t want to take you away from the guys.”

“You not. I come here on my own.”

“I know time with the team is important.”

“Sid, I spend enough time with them to last ten lifetimes. You are new. Have to catch up.”

Sid’s answering smile is soft and warm. “We have to be quiet,” he whispers. “I don’t trust the thickness of these walls.”

*

Geno sneaks into Sid’s hotel room in St. Paul, Las Vegas and Glendale. Sid lets himself through Geno’s front gate when they’re back home in Pittsburgh. 

Sid insists that they keep things professional while they’re at work. He draws a line in the sand and Geno is respectful of that. At least, he tries to be. 

There are moments when Sid lets things slide; like after a statement win against the Rangers when he lets himself be pulled down the maze of corridors under Madison Square Garden and Geno kisses him like Sid was the one who netted the game-winning goal. 

“I can’t wait for you to be back,” Sid says, fingers wrapped around Geno’s tie. “I miss you on the bench.”

“Miss being there,” Geno says as he presses closer. “Is not the same to watch from far away. Miss being that close to you.”

Sid laughs, warm breath puffing against Geno’s lips. “You’re close to me pretty much all the time now.”

“Yes, but for those sixty minutes, I’m far away. Is too much.”

Sid laughs again and Geno would happily drown in the sound. He wraps his arms around Sid’s waist as Sid loops his around Geno’s neck. 

Just like that, they make up for all the lost time. 

*

The sky turns grey and the air turns cold in the days leading up to Christmas break. It snows off and on, not enough to accumulate on the roads but enough to make Geno want to hunker down in his house in front of the TV with Sid. 

Sid has both feet in Geno’s lap and Geno is absentmindedly rubbing at Sid’s ankle, thumb slowly swiping back and forth over his skin as a new episode of “Chopped” begins. 

“I don’t really feel like having sex tonight,” Sid says. Geno hums but doesn’t stop the movement of his hand or look away from the TV. It’s late anyways. He hadn’t really been expecting it. “Do you want me to go home?”

Now Geno stills his hand and looks over at Sid. Sid’s still looking at the TV, eyes trained on the chefs as they open the first mystery basket, but he doesn’t really seem to be watching it. It’s just somewhere to look that’s not at Geno. 

“Why would you go home?”

“If we’re not going to do anything, then why would I stay?”

Geno feels like he’s missing something, something important. Sid has always stayed. There hasn’t been a night that they’ve spent together when Sid hasn’t stayed.

“You want to go?” he asks. Sid shrugs. He has his arms crossed over his chest and he still won’t look at Geno, so Geno squeezes his ankle. “Sid, why would you leave? You always stay?”

“Yeah, after we fool around. I’ve never stayed over just to stay over.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is, though,” Sid snaps back. He finally turns his head and looks at Geno, cheeks pink. “Everything has been so physical,” he says quietly. “I guess I don’t know exactly where I stand when it’s not. Can I just go to bed here? Are we that kind of —” He cuts himself off and uncrosses his arms so he can flap a hand in Geno’s direction. “Whatever we are.”

It’s only been a few weeks, so Geno’s not put off when Sid doesn’t come up with a label for what they are. 

“Of course you can sleep here,” Geno says. When Sid rolls his eyes, Geno squeezes his socked toes and shakes his foot. “You really think I kick you out just because we don’t have sex?”

“I’ve had relationships — or something like a relationship — with guys before where it was just physical and that was fine. We didn’t hang out.”

“Hanging out right now.”

“Okay,” Sid says quickly. “Never mind, forget I said anything. I was being dumb.”

He starts to move his feet off Geno's lap but Geno won’t let him go. He wraps his good hand around Sid’s ankle but, when that doesn’t seem to be enough to stop Sid, he takes more drastic measures. He throws his body to the right and pins Sid to the couch. The ensuing scuffle leaves Sid breathless from laughter and Geno kneeling between his thighs, fingers laced together above Sid’s head. 

“Want you here,” Geno says to Sid’s flushed face. “Want you to be here. Sex is good.” He stops and rolls his eyes to himself. “Sex is _great,_ but sometimes the best part is just falling asleep next to you.”

Sid bites at his bottom lip to try to hide his smile and Geno drops a kiss to his cheek. Sid untangles his fingers from Geno’s and wraps them around the back of Geno’s neck so he can pull him down for a real kiss. 

“You’re almost making me rethink not having sex tonight,” he says softly. “Almost.”

Geno stretches out beside him and they make out, slow and lazy, hands staying exclusively above the waist and over their clothes. It’s not going anywhere other than this but that doesn’t make it any less meaningful or any less fun. 

Sid laughs as Geno drags his fingers over Sid’s ribs and Sid nips at Geno’s bottom lip until Geno grunts. Sid lets go and soothes the bite with a small, sweet kiss. 

“I’m going to go up to bed,” Sid whispers. 

Geno nods and lifts his arm off of Sid’s waist. “I’ll be up soon.”

“Take your time,” Sid says softly, giving him one more kiss before standing and heading upstairs. 

Geno lies there on the couch, listening to Sid’s footsteps on the floor above him. The shower starts and Geno listens to it run for a few minutes before he gets up and begins to close down the house for the night. He turns off the TV and picks up their empty teacups from the coffee table. He takes the time to put them in the dishwasher instead of leaving them in the sink. Then he double checks that all the doors are locked and begins to shut off the lights. 

The water has stopped running by the time he starts to climb the stairs. 

Sid’s tucked into bed, covers pulled up to his waist and his hair still damp from the shower, darkening the pillow case beneath his head. 

“Comfortable?” Geno asks. Sid gives him a sleepy smile and pulls the covers down on Geno’s side of the bed. 

“I will be,” he says as Geno kicks off his slippers and climbs into bed beside him. 

*

Geno wakes to his phone buzzing on the nightstand. Sid groans next to him and buries his face in Geno’s shoulder. 

“What the hell is that?” Sid mumbles as Geno rolls toward the sound. 

“Phone.”

“Well make it stop.”

“Am trying,” Geno tells him as he slaps his hand around the table, looking for the phone. He finally finds it and picks it up to look at the screen. 

“Who is texting you?” Sid grumbles. “What is their problem?”

“Friends,” Geno says as he quickly skims through the texts. They’re disjointed and confusing. Clearly his friends are drunk. “In Miami.”

“Why are they up so early?”

“Is late for them. They just getting in for the night.”

Sid lifts his head and stares past Geno to the digital clock on the nightstand. “Are you kidding? It’s five-thirty.”

Geno shrugs and tips the screen toward Sid so he can see the blurry pictures his friends sent. It seems to be one bar after another with plenty of alcohol and pretty women. “Was big night out, I guess.” He puts the phone on silent and sets it back on the table. 

“Are those the ones you’re going to be spending the holiday break with?”

“Some of them. Why? You afraid I won’t be able to keep up?” Geno jokes. Sid goes quiet. 

“I guess,” he says after a moment, “it’s more about who you’ll be keeping up with. Your friends seem like they’re pretty popular with the ladies.”

Geno snorts. “They’re not.”

“But you are.” 

Geno looks over at him in the dark. He can’t see him, but he can tell Sid isn’t looking back. 

“You think I’ll cheat? Sid.” Geno rolls over to face him and wraps an arm around Sid’s back to pull him close. They’re nearly forehead to forehead and, when Sid heaves a sigh, Geno can feel his breath fan across his skin. 

“No. I don’t know. I think I know how guys are and how much pressure they can put on you to drink or party or hook up, even if you’re not really interested.”

“Is not high school, Sid. I won’t be bullied. I know how to say no to them.”

“I know you do, but —” He cuts himself off and groans in frustration. “I hate how this is sounding. I sound pathetic.”

“You don’t,” Geno assures. “Is okay to say how you feel.”

Geno’s sure Sid rolls his eyes.

“Do you want to say no to them?” Sid asks. “I don’t want you not to have a good time with your friends because of me. I mean, you can’t even tell them that we’re together.”

“Can tell them I’m seeing someone.”

“You don’t think they’ll ask for a name or to see pictures? They’ll want details.”

“Sid.” Geno pushes at Sid’s shoulder until he’s flat on his back and Geno follows him over, knees on either side of Sid’s hips. “You worry too much.”

“I don’t want you to have to lie to your friends.”

“Probably won’t spend much time with them anyways. Will probably just be at the beach, dinner, bed. Am mostly going there for warm weather.”

“So are you going to be missing out on hanging out with your friends because of me?”

Geno sighs and rests his head against Sid’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Sid says quietly. “I’m being difficult.”

“You not,” Geno tells him, turning his face into Sid’s neck. “But you don’t need to worry. Don’t want anyone else. Am not going to look for anyone else and I’m not going to be with anyone else. Don’t care what my friends try to get me to do.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Sid says softly and Geno huffs and moves away just enough to flip on the bedside light. He needs to see Sid for this. 

Sid blinks into the sudden brightness and Geno gathers his face in his hands. It’s awkward and clumsy with his cast but Sid stays still. 

“Listen to me,” Geno says slowly. “Have nothing to worry about. You think I’m going to mess this up for one night with a stranger? No. No way.”

“But —” 

Geno kisses him quiet and, when he pulls, back Sid is smiling. It’s certainly an improvement. 

“Maybe I get you to come to Miami with me,” Geno teases. “Would love to see you on the beach, getting all tan.”

Sid brings his hand up to wrap around Geno’s left wrist, not pushing him away, just holding him. 

“I have to go home,” Sid says. “I haven’t seen my parents in months. They miss me as much as I miss them.” 

“You a good son,” Geno says. “A good boy. Would rather go up to freezing cold Canada and be with family than go to nice, warm Miami and hang out with me. What about you? I have to worry about you in Nova Scotia? You have any exes up there?”

“None that you need to worry about.”

“But you do have them?”

Sid shrugs. Geno digs his fingers into Sid’s ribs until he starts to laugh. 

Sid squirms, grabs Geno's hands and laces their fingers together. 

Sid hums. “I wish …”

“What? Can say.”

Sid shakes his head with a smile. “It’s nothing. Really.” He looks back at the clock and runs a hand up Geno’s chest. “We’ve got about an hour and a half before the alarm goes off. You want to go back to sleep or …” He passes a thumb over Geno’s nipple to make his point and Geno laughs before he leans down for a kiss. 

“I bet we can do both,” he says, “yeah?”

Sid nods and smiles into the next kiss. “For sure.”


	6. Chapter 6

The Pens drop the last two games before the holiday break. 

The locker room is somber and even though Sully tries his best to point out what they did right, it doesn’t seem to brighten the mood. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing the losses happened now,” Sid says from the passenger seat of Geno’s car. Geno had offered to drive him to the airport after the game so Sid didn’t have to worry about long-term parking. “I mean, a few days off gives you guys a chance to regroup.”

It’s an awfully weak argument but, just like Sully, Sid’s trying. 

Geno sighs and puts his hand on Sid’s thigh, the cast lying heavily across his leg. “I know, but losing sucks. Sucks even more when I’m not out there to help.”

“I know,” Sid says as he lays his hand over the cast. “But every day you get a little bit closer to getting back out there. After break you’re only a week away from getting your cast off.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. I have a good feeling. After that we’ll work on getting your strength back and you’ll be out there in no time.”

“Still seems like so long,” Geno complains as he takes the exit for the airport. “Already missed so much.”

Sid squeezes Geno’s fingers and Geno wishes the stupid cast was off, if only so he could properly hold Sid’s hand.

“Hey, can you pull into the short-term instead of dropping me off at the curb?” Sid asks. Geno has to cut over two lanes to make the correct exit. “Sorry,” Sid says as a car honks behind them. “I just want to do something and I don’t want you to get yelled at for staying parked for too long.”

“What you gonna do?” Geno asks, but Sid’s too busy searching through the duffel bag on the floor between his feet to answer. 

Geno pulls into a spot close to the sliding doors that open into the airport and Sid reemerges with a small box wrapped in red and gold paper. 

“It’s not much,” Sid says as he holds the present out to Geno. “It’s not anything, really, and I know that it’s complicated with you and American Christmas and we haven’t been seeing each other for that long. But I saw this and I just …” He trails off and pushes the box closer to Geno. “Just take it. Please.”

Geno takes it and runs his thumbnail under the piece of Scotch tape that’s holding the paper together. He sticks the wrapping paper in the cup holder and slides the lid off the black box. Inside, tucked between two pieces of tissue paper, Geno finds a silver charm, about the size of a dime, engraved with the number seventy-one. 

“I told you it’s no big deal,” Sid says as Geno lifts the charm out of the box. “I doubt it’s even silver but I … I don’t know. I guess I thought —”

Geno quiets him with a kiss and, when he leans back, Sid is smiling. “Thank you,” Geno says softly. “Is very sweet.” He puts the charm back in the box then gives it back to Sid. “Hold for a second, okay?” He reaches behind him to unclasp the chain around his neck then takes the charm and dips the chain through the bale.

“Oh,” Sid says. “I thought maybe you’d put it on your keys or something.”

Geno rolls his eyes as he tries to blindly re-clasp the necklace. “No way. Could lose my keys. This … I never take off.” He makes a frustrated noise when he keeps missing the hook. “Can you help?”

Smiling, Sid clicks on the overhead light and leans over the center console. Sid makes quick work of the clasp and slides it to the back of Geno’s neck, fingers brushing against Geno’s skin. Geno tucks his chin against his chest and picks up the charm, mostly hidden by the larger pendants, and runs his fingers over the engraving. 

“Feel bad,” he says., “Didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t need to,” Sid says quickly, “honesty. We didn’t talk about it and I wasn’t expecting anything. You haven’t hurt my feelings, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Still. Will get you something in Miami, something good.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Am going to, though.” He presses a quick kiss to Sid’s lips. “Sure you don’t want to come with me. Sun and sand.”

“Snow and Christmas cookies.”

“Is snow here, Sid, and I can buy you cookies. Good ones. The best.”

Sid hums. “It’s a good offer, but it’s not the same. I really have to go, going through Customs always makes me nervous.”

“You text me when you get home.”

Sid nods. The noon game had been a blessing, getting most of the guys out of Pittsburgh with the majority of the day to salvage. But there are no direct flights into Halifax, so Sid won’t be landing in Canada until nearly nine o’clock. “Same to you.”

“Is going to be late,” Geno warns. His flight leaves at nine-thirty and he won’t land until after midnight. 

“That’s fine,” Sid says. “I just want to know you made it safe.” He rezips his bag then looks back to Geno. “Why is it going to be so late? You couldn’t find a flight to Miami any earlier than this?”

“Could have,” Geno says with a shrug, “but then I wouldn’t have been able to drop you off.”

Sid stares at him for a moment before he’s practically throwing himself across the center console. He kisses Geno with tongue and teeth and Geno nearly pulls him all the way over and onto his lap before Sid retreats back to the passenger side with a deep breath.

“I really have to go,” he says, eyes lingering on Geno’s mouth. “Really.”

Geno nods then licks his lips and Sid groans.

“You don’t make it easy,” Sid tells him. “But I do, I have to go. I’ll see you in a few days.” He grabs his bag and opens the door in a sudden rush to get out. “Text me. I mean it.”

“Will,” Geno says, “promise. Merry Christmas, Sid.”

Sid hangs halfway in and out of the car before he ducks all the way back in for a quick goodbye kiss. 

“I’ll see ya,” he says and then he’s up and out of the car. 

Geno sits there and watches until Sid’s through the sliding doors before he starts the car and leaves. 

*

Geno gets a text five hours later, while he’s waiting to be called to board his flight. 

It’s a photo of Sid’s feet on a slushy curb. 

_Back on solid ground,_ Sid texts. _Have you boarded yet?_

_Soon,_ Geno texts back. _Glad you’re safe._

_I’m waiting for my parents to pick me up. Apparently they’re circling around. I didn’t get out here fast enough. My dad doesn’t want to pay for short-term parking._

Geno laughs, not caring if people around him stare. 

_Smart,_ Geno texts. 

_Cheap,_ Sid shoots back. _They just turned the corner. Have a safe flight. Remember to text me._

_I will,_ Geno texts. _Have fun with your parents._

Geno doesn’t get a text back, so he pockets his phone and waits for his flight to board. 

*

It’s nearly one in the morning before Geno is able to disembark his flight in Miami. He knows Cole Harbour is an hour ahead and, even though he promised Sid that he’d text, he has serious doubts as he waits for his ride. 

Finally, he decides a promise is a promise and fires off a quick message. 

_Landed safe. Sorry if I woke you._

He’s not expecting a response, he knows Sid likes to go to bed early, so it’s a shock when his phone buzzes in his hand before he can slide it back into his pocket. 

_I’m awake,_ Sid texts back. _Get some rest. Have fun._

_You too_ , Geno replies as the car pulls up to the curb 

In the back seat, Geno rests his head against the window and watches the lights fly past. 

It’s a short ride and, while he usually loves that, right now he wouldn’t mind if the driver got a little lost. He likes the quiet and the calm. He’s tired and a little lonely and, no matter how comfortable the beds at the hotel are or how fun his friends might be, it won’t be enough to solve it. 

At the hotel Geno tips the driver and waves off the porter who shows up to help him with his bags. He only has the one — packing light was easy with no one in Miami that he wants to impress. 

As soon as he walks through the revolving doors and steps into the lobby, there’s a loud cheer followed by clapping and whistles. 

Yury steps out of the crowd, two drinks in his hand and his shirt unbuttoned nearly down to his navel. 

Geno only recognizes a small handful of people behind him. Timur and Erik and Roman. Otherwise, they’re all strangers. It’s not uncommon for Yury’s circle of friends to change from season to season. There’s always someone newer and hotter and richer out there for him to be connected to. As far as Geno knows, he’s the only longtime friend Yury has. 

A decade ago, Geno felt honored to be included. He was so desperate for other people who understood him, other Russians who could speak his language. He longed for the connection. 

It had been a good fit in the start. They were all young and attractive and wealthy, although Geno quickly learned he was the only one actually working for his money. Yury and his friends were all born to wealthy parents — politicians or actors or oligarchs — happy to hand money over to their children to get them out of the country and away from Russian gossip mags. 

They knew where to find the best food and the hottest parties and the prettiest women. Geno had enjoyed himself for a while, constantly skirting the line between having fun and having _too_ much fun. 

But Geno grew up over the years. The Pens named him captain and he had responsibilities and kids looking up to him. He couldn’t stay up all night partying, even on his days off. He matured. He’s not twenty anymore and the charm of Yury and his constant enthusiasm for having too good of a time has worn off. 

Still, Geno puts his bag down and greets Yury with open arms and Yury hugs him back, careful not to spill his drinks. 

“This one is for you,” Yury says when he pulls back. Geno has to admit it’s nice to hear Russian again. He hands Geno one of the drinks and clinks their glasses together. “It’s good to see you; you look good. Well, except for that.” He points to Geno’s cast. “When do you get that ugly thing off?”

“Not soon enough,” Geno says. “What are you still doing up? It’s late.”

“Late?” Yury laughs. “It’s early. We’re just getting ready to go out. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Oh, no, no,” Geno says, “it’s late. I’m tired.”

“Tired from what?”

“It’s been a long day. You know there was a game today.”

Yury scoffs. “It’s not as if you played. Come on. Come out. We’ll have fun.”

“No, it’s late. I’m old.”

Yury rolls his eyes. “Fine. But, if you’re going to bed, let me send one of the girls with you.” He nods behind him to the women. They’re gorgeous, of course, but painfully young. “They’ll tuck you in,” he says with a wink. Geno sighs. Yury won’t take no for an answer. 

“I’ll go out,” Geno concedes. “But let me go upstairs, alone. I’ll shower and change —”

“The girls can help with showering, too.”

Geno ignores him. “Give me thirty minutes. Alone.”

“Fine, fine,” Yury says. “Go shower. You stink like a commercial flight.”

The hotel room is beautiful with a king-size bed and a balcony that looks out over the water. He takes a photo to send to Sid at a more reasonable time then strips off his clothes and steps into the shower. 

He’s quick about it, not even taking the time to wash his hair. He wouldn’t put it past Yury to pay off the hotel staff to get a key to his room and drag him downstairs. 

He gets dressed in sweats, partly for comfort and partly for the look of disgust that will surely be on Yury’s face when he sees them. He grabs his wallet, even though he knows Yury will be paying, and double checks that he has his keycard and phone before heading downstairs. 

Just as expected, Yury wrinkles his nose at Geno’s sweatpants. 

“They’re designer,” Geno says as Yury shakes his head. “Cost more than your whole outfit.”

“Money can’t buy taste,” Yury says, nose high in the air as Geno laughs. 

“But it can buy me dinner. Come on now, feed me.”

“Lucky I don’t make you change,” Yury mumbles as he throws an arm around Geno’s shoulders and leads the entire group out of the hotel. 

Yury brings them to a sushi place that probably should already be closed for the night. He gives the hostess a wad of cash and she gratefully leads them through the empty restaurant with a smile. They already have a large table set and sake poured and waiters standing by to take their orders. 

Yury might drive him crazy sometimes, but Geno can certainly appreciate good sushi and good service. 

Geno doesn’t hesitate to order the most expensive thing on the menu. He also doesn’t hesitate to remove the hand off his thigh that belongs to the woman sitting beside him. He gives her an apologetic smile and she shrugs and turns to talk to the guy on her other side. 

Yury elbows Geno in the ribs and Geno ignores him, choosing instead to concentrate on successfully using the chopsticks with his left hand. 

After dinner Yury tries again to get him to go out but Geno holds his ground and refuses. 

“Tomorrow,” he promises. “Give me a night to rest and I’ll be ready.”

“You had better,” Yury says, “or else I’ll drag you out myself.”

Back in his room, Geno doesn’t even bother changing. He just crawls under the covers and rubs his thumb back and forth over the seventy-one that hangs around his neck until he falls asleep. 

Despite his late night, Geno wakes up early in the morning and heads for the beach in shorts and sneakers. 

He jogs along the waterline, sneakers slapping against the hard sand as he breathes in the salt air. The beach is nearly empty this early and he stops a few miles from the hotel to catch his breath and take a picture of the sun coming up over the horizon. 

Without thinking of the time he sends it off to Sid.

_Pretty,_ Sid texts, followed by _you’re up early._

_So are you,_ Geno sends back, sweaty fingers sliding across the phone screen. 

_It’s an hour later here, it’s not so bad. I take it you didn’t have too crazy of a night?_

_Just dinner. Sushi. It was nice. I promised I’d go out tonight._

_Have fun_ , Sid responds. Geno watches the grey dots pop in and out over and over again until they finally disappear completely. Apparently that’s all Sid has to say, so Geno slides his phone back into his arm sleeve and keeps running. 

*

He has no idea what time Yury and the rest of the group got back last night — or, rather, this morning — but he’s sure they’ll sleep late into the afternoon, which means Geno has most of the day to himself. 

He takes a proper shower after his run, washing his hair and standing underneath the spray until he feels waterlogged and pruny. 

He has breakfast brought up to the room and, as he eats, he Googles the best cookies that Miami beach has to offer. He sends two dozen of them to Pittsburgh. It’s a gift he’s sure Sid will enjoy. 

After, he changes into his swim suit and heads back down to the beach, where he collapses onto a lounge chair and takes a nap. 

He’s awoken hours later by the sound of someone falling heavily onto the chair beside him. With a sigh Geno lifts the baseball cap off his face and peeks over to find Yury smiling back at him, looking well rested and ready to cause trouble.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all day?” Yury asks. Geno nods and slides the hat back into place, only for Yury to swipe it. “You’re going to sleep your entire vacation away.”

“It’s what you do on vacations. And you’re one to talk. Did you just wake up?” 

“After a night out. I earned my late start.”

“I jogged this morning,” Geno says and Yury pulls a face, like he can’t imagine anyone voluntarily doing that. 

“Are you all right?” Yury asks. “You seem … off. Not yourself.”

“It’s probably this,” Geno says as he raises his broken hand. “Not playing has made me cranky.”

Yury leans forward. “You know, I know a guy who could cut that off of you.” Geno rolls his eyes and Yury continues on. “I’m serious. He’s a doctor. Plastic surgeon. Pay him in cash and it’s no problem.”

Geno laughs at the thought of the look on Sid’s face if he returned to Pittsburgh without his cast. “I think it’s best if I wait. It’s only a few more weeks.”

Yury hums and nods. “That’s not it, though, is it? There’s something else. Something is bothering you.”

Geno shrugs. “I tell you, it’s my hand. Or maybe the sun, I’ve spent too much time in it.” He reaches over and pats Yury’s knee then sits up. His skin feels warm and tight. “Think I’m going to go in and get ready for tonight. I hope it’s a good time.”

Yury grins. “It’s the only time I know how to have.” 

The club Yury brings them to is loud, crowded and hot. Their group disperses into the sea of bodies, to dance or drink or fool around in a corner booth or the bathroom. 

Geno makes a break for the bar, skirting around couples grinding on each other or making out with each other and immediately rejecting any hands that try to grab him and drag him into the mess. 

He’s about halfway there when Yury hooks his finger into Geno’s belt loop and pulls him back. 

“Come with me,” he yells over the noise. “I have a table.”

“I’m going to get a drink,” Geno yells back. He’s going to need one to get through the night. 

Yury waves him off with his free hand and leads him through the crowd. “There will be drinks there. Just come.”

Yury weaves his way through the club, stopping to say hello to people as he goes until Geno grows impatient and pushes him forward to hurry him along.

“You’re being very rude tonight, Zhenya,” Yury calls over his shoulder and Geno pushes him again. 

“You promised me drinks.”

“And you’ll get them,” Yury tells him. “Calm down.”

Eventually they make it through the mass of people to a quieter part of the club, where the bass of the music doesn’t make Geno’s bones shake. There’s a row of plush, velvet-lined booths against the wall and Geno follows Yury to the one that is, unsurprisingly, filled with women. 

Yury greets them all with hugs while Geno stands off to the side until Yury grabs him and shoves him into the booth, wedging Geno in between himself and a pretty blonde. 

“Zhenya,” Yury says as he nods to the woman on Geno’s other side, “this is Valya. I’ve been telling her all about you. I’ll think you’ll hit it off.” Geno gives him a dark look and Yury grins. “I think you’ll like her,” he says quietly. “She’s very nice.”

The worst thing is that Valya _is_ very nice. Russia and beautiful with sunkissed skin and shiny hair. She’s young, but not inappropriately so, and smart, too. On her way to being a veterinarian once she finishes school. 

“Yury tells me you like animals,” she says as she takes another sip of her drink. Her lipgloss leaves a pretty pink stain on the rim of the glass. 

Geno nods and Valya smiles, small and sweet. She’s been carrying the conversation and Geno feels terrible about it. She’s wonderful and, if Sid wasn’t in the picture, Geno could see himself spending more than one night with her. But Sid is very much there, present in everything Geno says and does, and it’s not fair to sit with Valya and pretend that he’s not. 

“I’m sorry,” Geno says, “but I have to go.”

“Oh,” Valya says as she begins to slide out of the booth, gently nudging people out of her way as she goes. It’s a production to get Geno up and out but he feels better when he’s standing. “Are you okay?” Valya asks. “Did something happen? Did I say something?”

Geno shakes his head. “No, yes but no. It’s not you.”

“Zhenya.” Yury says his name like a warning, one that Geno is never going to heed. 

“I have to go,” he says to Valya. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Sure,” Valya says and the last thing Geno sees before he turns to leave is Yury sliding out of the booth to follow. 

Geno makes it to the street before Yury is able to catch up to him and, once he does, it’s clear he’s not planning on letting him get off easy. 

He puts his hands on his hips and blocks Geno’s path. “Zhenya, I think it’s time you told me the truth.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Maybe start with what’s wrong. What’s really wrong. I know it’s not all about your hand. Is it more than that? Is it not healing correctly? Do you have to wear that cast for even longer? It’s really not that bad, but it would be better if you let me draw on it. Just a small dick on the bottom there. You’d hardly even see it.”

Geno sighs and shakes his head. “It’s not my hand,” he says. “I’m seeing someone.”

Yury blinks at him before looking over both of his shoulders. ‘What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for this girl you’re seeing. She’s not here, is she?”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m just saying, where is she? You didn’t bring her? You’re not with her? Over the holidays?”

Geno takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Sid was right. Of course Yury was going to have questions. 

“She’s with her family,” Geno grits out. It hurts to lie, to pretend Sid is someone else. But, for the both of them, it’s all he can do. 

“And she doesn’t think you’re family?”

“It’s new. It’s complicated. She couldn’t come with me here and I couldn’t go with her.”

“It doesn’t sound like much of a relationship,” Yury says. Geno balls his good hand into a fist. “All you were doing was talking.”

“It’s wrong to lead her on like that.”

“Like what?”

“What if she wanted more?”

“So? It’s not like your … whatever this chick is to you will ever know. You can do whatever you want down here. You can fuck whoever you want. She’ll never know.”

“I can’t do that. I said that I wouldn’t. I don’t even want to.”

Yury narrows his eyes and studies Geno carefully, the same way he did on the beach. “Are you in love with her?”

“No,” Geno says immediately because he’s not, he can’t be. It’s too soon. He reaches up and thumbs the 71 that hangs around his neck. “Not yet.”

“You sound like you’re in love.”

“Because I don’t want to fuck someone else?”

“Because you’re miserable without her. You don’t want to be here and it has nothing to do with what Valya might or might not want. You’ve been this way the whole time. Not even sushi was enough to cheer you up and I know you love that.”

Geno huffs a laugh. “It’s —”

“Complicated,” Yury says. “Yes, you’ve said. But it’s not. Not really. You shouldn’t be here, Zhenya.”

“You want me to leave?”

“I want you to be where you’re happiest, whether that’s here or Pittsburgh or wherever your girl is. But I think we both know it’s not here. Am I right?”

Slowly, Geno nods and Yury smiles. 

“I’m glad we worked that out,” he says. “I’ll get you a flight, a good one, a private one. You know I always have a jet waiting at the airport just in case. You getting back to your love is one of the more heartwarming uses for it. Did I ever tell you the story about what happened in St. Barts?” He shakes his head and shudders at the memory. “Maybe I’ll spare you the details on that one. It wasn’t good. Why don’t you go back to the hotel and I’ll make a call.”

“Thank you,” Geno says. He truly means it. They’ve grown apart over the years and their lifestyles clash more often than not but, right now, when Geno really needs a friend, Yury is here. 

“It’s no problem,” Yury tells him as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “But don’t invite me to the wedding. You know I don’t do that sentimental shit.”

Geno laughs and pulls Yury into a one-armed hug. “Don’t ever change.”


	7. Chapter 7

It feels nice to sleep in his own bed again. 

He hasn’t been gone for long but after years of road trips and travel he doesn’t take for granted any night when he gets to lie down on his own pillow. 

He misses Sid. It’s only been a little more than forty-eight hours and they’ve been texting back and forth but still … he misses him lying beside him at night. He’s happy that Sid is spending time with his family and Geno has no problem with being on his own, but it makes him worry about how he’s going to handle the summer break. It’ll be here before he knows it and he’s unsure what he’s going to do with all that time away from Sid. Will they break up? Attempt long distance? Are they even at that point where that’s a possibility? Agreeing not to sleep around while they’re separated for four days is one thing but for three months? Geno can’t imagine anyone turning his head and capturing his attention like Sid has, but maybe Sid doesn’t feel the same way. Sid’s quiet and private about his life but maybe he’ll want someone who will hold his hand and kiss him in public. Sid doesn’t have to hide, but Geno does.

The worries and questions swirl around his brain for the rest of the night, abruptly putting an end to the good night’s sleep he was hoping to get. 

He’s still awake when Sid texts him early the next morning, so Geno grabs his phone and requests to FaceTime him without even reading the message.

Sid’s face is soft and sleepy when it fills the screen and his hair is a mess. He’s still lying down, his head resting on a bright red pillow, and Geno can see the corner of a dark headboard in the background.

“Hey,” Sid whispers. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Geno says back, chest going loose with the relief of seeing him. 

“Why are you up so early?” Sid asks. “Or are you just getting in?” He narrows his eyes and pulls the phone closer to his face. “Wait — are you at home?”

“How can you tell?”

“I’ve spent enough time in your bed to recognize the sheets. Why are you home? What happened?”

“Nothing happen,” Geno tells him. “It was just time to come home.”

“You were barely even there.”

“Was there for enough.”

“What happened?” Sid asks again and Geno knows what he’s asking. It’s not so much what happened but who happened and how many times. 

“Nothing happened,” Geno says seriously. He puts his hand over his heart and moves the angle of the phone so Sid can see it. “I swear. Am just … that life is not for me anymore. Is too much, too loud and fast. Want quiet now.”

“But you were looking forward to it.”

“Was I?”

“You were looking forward to the sun and the warmth.”

“Spend enough time in sun. Don’t I look tan?” He pulls the covers off himself and holds the phone back so Sid can see his chest. 

“You look a little burnt. Do you have aloe?”

Geno huffs. “Can look if it make you feel better.”

“It will,” Sid tells him. “A little bit anyways. I’m sorry that your time off didn’t go as planned and I’m even more sorry you’re alone on Christmas Eve.”

“Is not a big deal,” Geno says, but Sid interrupts him.

“I know, I know,” he says loudly before pressing his lips together, listening to see if he’s woken anyone up. “I know what you said,” Sid says softly. “I guess I just miss you. If you’re alone I want to be with you.”

Geno takes a deep breath in, trying to find space for the flood of emotion that fills his chest as the air fills his lungs. “I miss you, too,” Geno tells him. “Good news is I can pick you up from airport day after tomorrow. Can see each other sooner.”

“That would be nice,” Sid says. “I love seeing my family, but it’ll be nice to be home, you know?” 

Geno nods. “Now you know why I come back to Pittsburgh, yes?”

Sid smiles and rolls his eyes, unimpressed with being caught. “I guess so.”

Geno grins back at him. “Talking about family, you sleeping in room where you grew up?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

Geno shrugs. “Just wondering if you want to give me tour.”

“There’s really nothing to see.”

Geno hums. “Don’t believe. Probably have lots of photos of when you were little. Maybe shelf with awards and ribbons and medals.”

Sid’s eyes flick to the left and Geno laughs. 

“Yes! See, I knew it! What are they? Spelling bee? Science fair? What is small baseball that kids play?”

“Little league?”

Geno snaps his fingers. “Yes, that. Let me see trophies, Sid.”

“You know what, I think I hear my parents getting up, I should go help with breakfast.”

“Oh c’mon, I show you all my trophies.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Geno.”

“Enjoy Christmas, Sid. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Sid says again, sounding serious. Geno knows not to fight it. 

“Talk to you later,” Geno says before they both hang up. 

*

Over breakfast Geno gets an email from the bakery in Miami from which he ordered the cookies, saying they’ll be delivered tomorrow. Apparently when you pay an arm and a leg for shipping, it’s not hard to get them to show up on Christmas Day.

Geno pours himself another cup of tea and taps on his screen to view his order. Twenty-four assorted cookies from Cindy Lou’s, each with a unique flavor, from Captain Crunch to Nutella Swirl. 

He’s sure Sid will like them, or at the very least appreciate them. He reads over the flavors again and thumbs at the pendant Sid had given him. That was a good gift. It was thoughtful and showed that Sid cared and Geno’s sure it took more than a few taps on a phone screen to buy it. 

He can’t just order Sid cookies for Christmas, no matter how delicious or expensive they are. He needs to do more. 

He closes out of the email and Googles ‘homemade gingerbread cookies’ and clicks on the first recipe he finds. 

It seems easy enough, with plenty of pictures and step by step instructions. He checks his cabinets and is pleased to find what he needs, including unopened jars of allspice and cloves. He doesn’t remember buying them and he has no idea how old they are or if spices go bad but, when he picks off the plastic wrapping and unscrews the top to take a sniff, they smell fresh enough. 

He sets everything he’ll need out on the counter and sets the oven to three-hundred-fifty degrees, only to shut it off a moment later when he realizes he’ll need to chill the dough before he rolls it out and cuts it.

He hums as he rereads the directions. He’ll have to dig out the rolling pin that his mother made him buy years ago so she could make pelmeni when she came to visit and something to cut the cookies with. He knows he doesn’t have the cute gingerbread cookie cutter that’s pictured and hopes he can make do with using a drinking glass. 

Gingerbread cookies are still _gingerbread cookies,_ even if they’re not shaped like a little man, right?

He makes the dough, accidentally spilling too much cinnamon into the flour mixture and having to spoon some back out before adding it to the wet ingredients. He runs the mixer until the dough looks like the pictures then divides it in half, wraps it in plastic wrap and sticks it in the fridge. 

While the dough is chilling he putters around the house, cleaning this and organizing that. He sends a few messages to the group chat, careful not to let it slip that he’s still in Pittsburgh. He loves the guys but he knows a few of them will invite him over and they won’t take no for an answer. He couldn’t go even if he wanted to. He has cookies to bake.

When the dough has chilled for the proper amount of time he takes it out of the fridge and flours the surface of the counter. Then he coats the rolling pin and he even sprinkles some on the dough itself, not wanting to take a chance that anything will stick. It’s tricky, rolling out the dough with a broken hand, but he makes it work, pressing down and smoothing it out, rolling and turning and rolling until it’s ¼-inch thick. 

He dips the rim of the drinking glass into a pile of flour then presses down, creating a neat circle. 

He gets seven circles out of the first roll, lifting them off the counter with a spatula and spacing them out on a baking sheet. They lose their shape in transit, so he uses his fingers to remold them, hoping whatever mistakes remain will be covered in icing. 

While the first batch is in the oven, he rolls the dough again and cuts more circles, a process he repeats until all the dough is used and it looks like a bakery inside his kitchen, with cookies cooling all over the place. 

“Fuck,” he says as he looks around, last sheet in hand, the heat of it seeping slowly through the ovenmit. He quickly clears a spot, one of the cookies sliding off the sheet and hitting the floor. “Shit.”

He needs a dog, one that’ll eat the food he drops so he doesn’t have to pick it up. Maybe not quite as big as Geoffrey, but close. He thinks Sid would like a big dog. 

He finds a place for the tray and picks up the cookie from the floor, tossing it in the trash before he begins to tidy up the kitchen. 

Sid calls while he’s elbow deep in soapy water. He drops the mixing bowl and grabs a dish towel, drying his hands quickly before he grabs the phone. 

It’s noisy on Sid’s end. “Cousins and second cousins,” he explains.” Geno hears a door close and the sound muffles. “Most of them still believe in Santa, so it’s getting kind of crazy.”

“Must be fun, though, lots of kids running around at Christmas.”

“Kind of. It’s giving my Mom ideas.”

“She wants more kids?”

Sid laughs. “Grandkids. She’s decided that Taylor is still too young to bother about this sort of thing, so it’s up to me. Do you ever get that kind of pressure from your mom?”

“Sometimes. Is not direct. She’s more sneaky. She brings up other people’s grandchildren and she sighs a lot, like she’s missing out. I change subject.”

Sid snorts. “I try to do that but she doesn’t let me. Do you want kids?”

Geno feels like he needs to sit down for this conversation. “Someday, yeah. When I was younger I think maybe already happen by now, but never meet right person. Plus maybe is unfair, gone so much, you know? Maybe too old now anyways.”

“You’re not too old.”

“Feel old,” Geno says. He looks at the cast on his hand. “Break bones like I’m old.”

“You broke your hand because you got into a fight. That’s not an old-person thing to do.”

“Just a stupid thing to do.”

“You said it, not me,” Sid says and Geno laughs. “You know it can still happen,” he says softly. “You just have to —”

“Find right person,” Geno finishes.

“Yeah,” Sid says, “that. I guess it’s easier said than done though, right?”

Geno hums and looks around at the stacks of cookies in his kitchen.

He wouldn’t do all this for just anyone. 

*

Geno fans his fingers out in front of the vents, exposing them to the heat that he’s put on full blast. Once they’re warm enough he turns the car off and checks the time on his phone, frowning when he realizes it’s only been ten minutes since he last checked. 

He’s been sitting in short-term parking for nearly an hour now, getting there early even though he knew Sid’s flight was running late. The cookies are in a Tupperware container on the back seat, iced like snowflakes and wrapped in bright red paper with too much Scotch tape. 

Decorating had been a disaster from start to finish. First he had to find a grocery that was open on Christmas Day so he could buy cream of tartar. Then he had to use a Ziploc bag instead of a piping bag because he wasn’t about to make a second trip out. He had a hard time getting the icing to the proper consistency and an even harder time filling the bag and piping straight lines with only one good hand. 

In the end they came out _okay._ They’re clearly homemade, which had been the whole point, and he’s learned a lot about what to do and what not to do for next time. He might want to invest in some actual cookie cutters and piping bags that he can fit with different-sized tips. It would have made the job much easier. Patience would have, too, something he realized he was lacking when he tried to stack the cookies in the box last night, only to discover that the icing hadn’t yet dried and the snowflake design had smudged. He had managed to salvage a few, put the good ones on top and ate the ones that were beyond repair. 

They taste good and they look okay and he knows Sid will like them, or at the very least be polite about them. There’s really nothing for him to worry about.

Still, he twists around in the front seat to look at the box and frowns at the way the corner of the paper is beginning to peel up. Apparently he needed to use more tape. 

Geno’s phone dings and he turns back around and reaches for it. 

_Just landed. It’ll probably be another half an hour._

Geno’s mouth twists as he rereads the text. He should go inside and wait. It’s what people do. The airport will be crowded — _bustling_ — and no one will notice him. He’s tall and stands out in a crowd, but he’ll pull the collar of his coat up and his hat down and he’ll blend in. 

He goes back and forth on it. Sid’s certainly not expecting to meet him inside, which means he should either definitely do it or definitely not do it. Sid won’t need help with his bags because he only brought one, but it would be nice for Geno to greet him with a smile and take it from him because Sid just got off an airplane and he’s probably tired. 

He should go inside, because that’s what a good boyfriend does and Sid deserves to have a good boyfriend. 

Geno opens the door and then closes it. Then he opens it, gets out, takes five steps, and turns around and returns to his car.

He’s being stupid. He’s overthinking it. Even if people recognize him, so what? He’s not doing anything wrong. He’s just a guy picking up his friend from the airport. 

He sighs, breath rising in front of him like plumes of smoke. He knows he has to make a decision: go inside where it’s warm or turn on the car to heat his chilled fingers. 

His eyes flick up and in the rearview mirror he catches a glimpse of Sid walking across the parking lot, wind whipping at his coat.

Geno stumbles as he gets out of the car. “Sorry I don’t come in,” he says and Sid shakes his head with a grin.

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for coming.”

It’s casual and cool and Geno tries not to feel wounded by it. A line of people followed Sid out into the parking lot, so it’s not as if he could greet Geno with a hug and a kiss. 

“Is the back open?” Sid asks. Geno fumbles with his keys and presses the button until the lights flash and the trunk pops open. 

“How was flight?” Geno asks as Sid throws his bag inside.

“It was fine,” Sid answers, reaching up to close the trunk before walking to the passenger side. He has to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. “No crying babies or anyone taking their shoes off so …” 

“Good,” Geno says as he opens the driver’s side door and climbs inside. “That’s good.” 

The car is quiet and cold and the tinting on the windows gives them privacy, so as soon as the door shuts behind Geno, Sid is reaching over and pulling him in for a kiss.

“I missed you,” Sid says against Geno’s lips. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Miss you,” Geno says back. The fingers of his broken hand are curled in Sid’s coat and his other hand is on the side of his neck and he feels like pulling Sid all the way over onto his lap or maybe taking it to the back seat …

The cookies. 

“Have something for you,” Geno says as he slows the kiss.

“Oh, yeah?” Sid asks, brow raised.

Geno laughs and gently pushes Sid back just enough that he can lean into the back seat for the box. 

“Is not much,” Geno warns. “Don’t get too excited.”

Sid ignores him in favor of tearing off the paper and popping the top of the Tupperware. “Cookies,” he says then looks up at Geno for an explanation.

“I make,” Geno says and Sid’s eyebrows shoot up as he rests the container on his lap so he can grab one.

“You made these?”

“Yes. First I buy some and I think maybe that’s enough, you know. But then I think more about gift you got me and how special it is. You really care when you get it and I just buy some cookies? Is not enough.”

“So you made cookies,” Sid says softly and Geno nods.

“I try to. Don’t look too close,” he says craning his neck to look into the container. “Don’t look the best, but taste okay.”

“You made cookies,” Sid says again even more softly than before. “I can’t believe you made me cookies.”

“Can’t believe either,” Geno tells him. “Was hard work.” He leans his head back against the headrest. “You like?”

Sid nods and leans over the center console to give him a kiss. “I love them. Thank you.”

“Am glad,” Geno says. “You ready for home? Must be tired.”

“I’m all right,” Sid says as he takes his first bite of cookie. He hums appreciatively and Geno smiles as he starts the car. “You said you bought other cookies?”

Geno huffs. “You don’t like.”

“No, that’s not true,” Sid argues with a mouthful of cookie. “I’m just saying that the only thing better than one type of cookie is two.”

“Way more than two types,” Geno says. “I buy them from very fancy bakery. Very gourmet cookies. Google Cindy Lou’s Cookies if you want to see.”

Sid balances the Tupperware on his lap as he pulls out his phone “Oh,” he says after a few moments of tapping at the screen. “Are they really that big?”

Geno hums. “Like size of face.”

Sid nods and lays his hand high on Geno’s thigh. “Maybe we could go back to your place instead.”

Geno laughs and starts the car. 

Sid eats three more cookies on the way home and never removes his hand from Geno’s thigh. 

He tells Geno about what his parents and sister gave him for Christmas and how his father almost spilled the beans about Santa in front of the younger kids.

“You miss it,” Geno says. The wistfulness in Sid’s voice is a dead giveaway. “Regret working so far from home?”

“No,” Sid answers quickly. “I think I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

Sid leaves his bag in the car when they get to Geno’s but he takes the cookies with him. He toes off his shoes and hangs up his coat, signaling he’ll be staying for a while, and follows Geno into the kitchen.

"Put cookies in here for now," he says. The container has barely made contact with the kitchen counter before Sid is crowding Geno back against the refrigerator door.

“I missed you,” Sid says before he pulls Geno down for a hard kiss. 

“You already say,” Geno mumbles against Sid’s lips as Sid pushes Geno’s sweater out of the way so he can undo his belt. 

Sid sinks down to his knees. “Yeah, and now I’ll show you.”

Geno’s laugh quickly turns into a moan. 


	8. Chapter 8

“How much does it hurt? On a scale of one to ten?”

“If you bend it like that again I’m gonna punch you in the throat. What number is that?” 

Sid hums and gently lowers Tanger’s ankle back down to the exam table. 

“Probably pretty high,” Sid says. Tanger nods in agreement, jaw set in pain. 

He played one too many shifts on it, but it’s not like he had much of a choice. The whole team is battered and bruised and the lineup has more Wilkes-Barre kids than NHL players. They’re doing the best they can, no one doubts that, but their best doesn’t seem to be good enough. 

The Pens picked up right where they left off before the holiday break, losing two out of the first three games.

Sid carefully pokes and prods at Tanger’s ankle, trying to figure out the best course of action to take as Geno watches from across the room, lying back on a table, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He’s pretty sure the stressball Sid tossed to him when he walked in is broken because he’s been squeezing it in his good hand over and over again and he doesn’t feel relaxed in the slightest. 

His cast is due to come off in six days, but he’s having a hard time figuring out why they can’t just take it off now. It’s clear the team needs him. 

“Sid,” he says. Sid hums but doesn’t pull his attention from Tanger, asking him questions too softly for Geno to hear. “Sid, I think —”

“No,” Sid says and Geno sits up and dangles one leg off the table.

“Don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“You’re not getting your cast off early.”

“But —”

Sid looks up and pins Geno with a hard stare. “No. Six days. You will get it off in six more days.”

“But the team needs me. They’re falling apart without me.”

“Hey,” Tanger snaps. “Fuck you. We’re falling apart and we’re without you but we’re not falling apart without you. We handled ourselves really well for a long time when you got hurt. Shit’s just catching up to us now, that’s all.”

“You right,” Geno admits. “But would help if I was back. My hand is fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Sid argues.

“You don’t know that it’s not,” Geno shoots back.

“I guess we’ll find out in six days,” Sid says before he turns his attention back to Tanger.

Geno huffs, his frustration boiling over as he tosses the stress ball toward the back corner of the room. It hits a box of gloves and knocks them to the ground. Even though Sid’s back is to him, Geno’s sure he’s just rolled his eyes.

“If you’re going to throw a tantrum, you can do it somewhere else,” Sid tells him. Geno wants to be annoyed but he has to admit that this version of Sid that takes no shit is pretty hot. “I’m going to get you some ice,” he says as he pats Tanger’s knee. “I’ve used up all the ice packs that I keep in here. I’ll be right back.”

Geno huffs and pulls his legs up on the table so he can wrap his arms around his knees. 

Gingerly, Tanger stretches his leg out, wincing as he flexes his ankle. “Do you think Sid is gay?” he asks and Geno’s head pops up. 

“What?”

Tanger picks a loose thread off the sleeve of his shirt and looks across the room to Geno. “Do you think Sid is gay?”

Geno can feel himself begin to break out in a cold sweat. Sid’s not in the closet but he’s also not out publicly and Geno doesn’t know where to take this conversation. “Why you think that?”

Tanger shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, Sid’s good looking, right?” 

Geno keeps his face carefully passive.

“I’ve never heard him mention a girlfriend,” Tanger continues.

“I don’t have girlfriend,” Geno says then immediately winces. He might not be making the point he’s trying to. 

“I guess it’s just …” Tanger stops and presses his lips together. “He never talks about girls. You know how some of the guys are when they see a cute girl sitting in the stands by the bench or against the glass. They mention it at least. He never does.”

“Maybe he just respectful.”

Tanger rolls his eyes. “Yeah, maybe he’s perfect,” he says sarcastically. “Maybe it’s a vibe or something.”

Geno huffs. “You full of shit.”

Tanger stares him down. “Would it bother you if he was?”

“No,” Geno answers automatically. “Would it bother you?”

“Of course not,” Tanger says. “I was just wondering.”

They’re quiet until Sid comes back, ice pack in hand.

“Keep it iced and keep it elevated,” Sid tells him. “Be prepared for Sully to say you’re day-to-day.”

Tanger groans and throws his head back. “Do I have to sit in here or can I go watch tape with the rest of the guys?”

“You can go. Do you need crutches?”

“Nah, I can put some weight on it,” Tanger says as he lowers both feet to the floor. “It’s not a long walk anyways.”

“All right,” Sid says, walking beside Tanger while he limps to the door, “but as soon as you get home, get off it and put it up.” 

“Yes, sir,” Tanger says as he throws up a mock salute before stepping through the doorway and into the hall. 

Sid spins slowly so he’s facing Geno and crosses his arms over his chest. “I know you’re upset,” he says and Geno blinks at him, too wrapped up in the conversation he had with Tanger to understand what Sid’s talking about. “You know if I could I would gladly cut that cast off your arm myself.”

Geno nods and unwraps his arms from around his legs. He lets them dangle off the side of the table so Sid can step between them when he’s close enough. The rest of the guys are either watching tape or have gone home. They have some privacy. 

“But even if I did that,” Sid continues, “and your hand was perfectly healed, we’d still have to work on getting the strength back. That takes time, too. You’re not going to be able to pick up a hockey stick and play in the next game. Even if you got your cast off today, with the way the next games in the next few weeks are spaced out, I still wouldn’t see you being in the line up until after the bye week at the end of the month. Okay?”

Geno’s broken bones before, he knows. 

Sid leans forward and puts his hands on Geno’s knee. “Trust me,” he says. “I want this cast off you as much as you do.”

Geno tips his head up. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m sick of hearing you complain about it.”

Geno smiles in the face of Sid’s teasing and locks his knees around Sid’s hips. “Thought it was because I finally get both hands on you.”

“But you’ve been doing so well with one,” Sid says back. 

“I forgot my phone,” Tanger announces about a half second before he steps into the room. It’s just enough time for Geno to unlock his knees and for Sid to step away. Tanger doesn’t look at them until he’s crossed the room and grabbed his phone, tucked in the small gap where the backrest meets the table. “Here it is,” he says as he turns and holds it up. “I got it.”

“Good,” Geno says. He wants Tanger to leave. He wants to be sure he didn’t see anything. 

“I’m heading home now,” he says to Sid. “Gonna put my foot up. G, when you get your cast off you should come over for dinner. We’ll celebrate. Sid, you should come, too.”

“Okay,” Sid says, “sure.”

“Great,” Tanger says, “that’s great.” He smiles and waves and backs out of the room, knocking into the doorframe before finally turning and leaving, his uneven footsteps echoing down the hall as he limps off on his bad foot. 

“That was weird,” Sid says. “Right?”

Geno nods. “Yes. For sure.”

*

The team goes on the road and wins against the Islanders and the Rangers before suffering an embarrassing loss in New Jersey that leaves Geno furious. He lets his temper get the better of him and lets loose in the locker room, calling out the rookies and the vets with equal viciousness. He regrets it all as soon as it’s out of his mouth. It’s a dick move, first of all. Plus, he knows the media are right outside the door, probably already tweeting and working on the scathing articles they’ll post in the morning. 

He’s ignored by everyone on the bus ride back to the hotel but, when he texts Sid his room number from the elevator, the response is immediate.

_I think you need to cool off. Take a shower and go to bed._

_Wanted to do all that with you,_ Geno texts back. _Relieve some stress._

_Jerk off and think of me,_ Sid texts, then _please delete these texts._

The elevator doors open to his floor and Geno steps out and begins to slowly walk down the hall to his room. _Sorry I lost my temper. Know I shouldn't have._

_I think the guys need to hear that more than I do. Have a good night, G. We’ll talk tomorrow._

Geno sets out to make things right in the morning, starting with the younger guys and working his way up. 

He skips breakfast in favor of going around and apologizing for snapping. He tells them he knows they’re trying and they’re doing their best. The Wilkes-Barre guys still look mildly terrified and the older ones look less than impressed with his apology but they accept it, calling him a douchebag before pulling out a chair and telling him to sit down. 

Even though he made things right, he’s still surprised when Sid agrees to follow him home. Once there Sid heads straight for the kitchen. He fills the kettle and sets it on the stove then opens up the cabinet where Geno keeps his teas. 

“What are you in the mood for?” he asks as Geno steps behind him. 

He wraps his arms around Sid’s waist and drops his forehead to Sid’s shoulder. 

“Feel bad,” he says and Sid leans back against him.

“About what?” “Getting so mad. Don’t do that.”

Sid laughs and turns in his arms then picks up his broken hand. “Oh, no?”

“Not at teammates.”

Sid arches a brow. “Oh, no?”

Geno sighs. Maybe Sid saw how he and Phil were at each other’s throats during playoffs. 

“Not in locker room,” Geno tells him, “not like that.”

“You apologized, right?”

Geno nods then shakes his head. “Not to you.”

“Were you mad at me?”

“Little bit mad at everyone, even mad at myself. Know reporters are printing stories about it. Is like … embarrassing.”

“Don’t read them,” Sid says as he turns back around and reaches for a tin of green tea. “Don’t give it attention. You and the team are squared away now. That’s all that matters.”

Geno bends down to kiss the side of Sid’s neck. “Two more days,” he breathes and Sid reaches up to pat the side of his face.

*

Two days later Geno sits on an exam table while his doctor cuts off his cast. 

The vibration of the saw rattles his bones but the plaster gives way to a satisfying crack when the doctor pulls it free. He cuts off the lining and suddenly there’s his hand, finally free after all this time. 

It’s a bit jarring to see it. His skin looks dry and pale. 

He feels a bit like crying and he has to clear his throat before he thanks the doctor.

“How do you feel?” Sid asks. Geno nods, not trusting his voice to say anymore.

“Good,” he finally says. “Weird.” He tries to curl his fingers into a fist but it’s hard to bend them past the second knuckle. 

Before he can panic Sid’s stepping forward and cradling Geno’s hand in his own. “It’s okay,” he says. “You haven’t been able to move them for a while now, so it’s completely normal for your muscles to feel sore or stiff.” Slowly, he moves Geno’s fingers for him until his hand is in a loose fist. “See. We’ll work on it. It’ll get easier.”

“Not too easy,” Geno says. “A fist is how I get broken hand in first place.”

“You’re going to want to stay away from fighting for a while,” the doctor says. “Indefinitely, ideally, but that’s just my personal opinion. Now, let’s talk about a time table for your return.”

“Sid says not until after bye week,” Geno says. “We talk lots about it.”

“Well I’m glad he’s given you a realistic timetable. It sounds like you’ll be in good hands.”

“Yes,” Geno says as he smiles at Sid, “the best.”

The team suddenly starts to click after that. They win two in a row then three then four. 

Geno watches from the press box with a smile on his face, always ready to stand up and cheer with the rest of the fans as he runs through the exercises that Sid showed him--flexing his wrist, picking up a pen, picking up his water bottle. 

He gets to be on the ice before practice. He’s not dressed in his gear but he gets to hold a stick and bat a puck around. He can skate and try to get his legs beneath him again. 

At night he gets to feel Sid’s slick, overheated skin beneath both hands. He feels his muscles jump and his body shake apart when he comes. Then, when Sid rolls him over and begins to kiss down his chest, he can feel the strength in Sid’s shoulders and the silkiness of his hair as he winds _all_ of his fingers through it while Sid swallows him down. 

*

They have dinner at Tanger’s on their first day off. 

Sid brings a bottle of wine and Geno brings himself.

Tanger seems surprised to see them standing there together on his doorstep, but he takes the bottle and invites them in. 

“Did you drive here together?” he asks as he leads them through to the kitchen. 

“We carpool,” Geno says. He can’t help but notice how quiet the house is. No TV playing a Disney movie or kids yelling or singing in the background. The dining room table only has three place settings. “Sid is bad at directions.”

“I’m still learning my way around here,” Sid defends.

“Been here for almost a full year by now,” Geno says back and Sid shrugs.

“So is the wine from both of you or ...”

“Nope,” Sid says. “That’s from me. Geno didn’t bring anything.”

“He didn’t say to bring anything.”

“Yes, but it’s still the polite thing to do.”

“In Canada maybe,” Geno teases. Sid rolls his eyes as Tanger’s dart back and forth between them.

“Well,” Tanger says, “thanks, Sid. Thanks for trying to be a good influence on Geno. If you guys want to go sit down I’ll get the food.”

“Is just us?” Geno asks. Tanger nods as he grabs a bottle opener out of the drawer. 

“I didn’t invite any of the other guys,” Tanger says. “Should I have?”

“Is your house,” Geno says while Sid offers to help. 

Tanger waves him off but pushes the now open bottle of wine into Geno’s hands. “Go fill the glasses. I’ll be right there.”

They have roast chicken for dinner with potatoes and a side salad. It’s simple but good and the conversation and the wine flow easily. 

They talk about the progress Geno’s making with his hand and when he’ll be able to join the team for practice. Sid says it’ll be soon while Geno says not soon enough. 

“Are you going back to Miami for the bye week?” Tanger asks. Geno shakes his head. “You’re kidding? Where then?”

“Don’t have plans.”

“Now you’re really kidding. You take every opportunity you can get to get out of the cold.”

Geno shrugs. No one but Sid knows about his failed trip to Miami. 

“What about you, Sid?” Tanger asks. “Are you going anywhere fun?”

“Back up to Nova Scotia,” Sid says. “I was just there, but it’s always good to go back. It’ll be a little bit quieter this time, too. Just my parents will be there, not the entire extended family.”

“That’s good,” Tanger says with a nod. “Quiet is good. Are you going with anyone?”

Geno narrows his eyes at Tanger while Sid shakes his head. 

“No, uh, I’m going alone. I’m not going with anyone.”

Tanger hums and seems to sit with that information for a second before he moves on to the next subject. 

For dessert they have cake from a bakery downtown and Tanger sends the leftovers home with Sid. 

“They’ll die in my fridge if you don’t take them,” he says, like Sid needs incentive to take the sweets with him. 

On the way out to the car Geno takes the box from Sid and hands him the car keys.

“Too much wine,” he explains. “You drive.”

Sid spins the keyring on his finger. “This is a first,” he says, “a Russian admitting they’re drunk.”

“Not drunk,” Geno says, “just want to be extra careful with you in the car.”

Sid makes a soft noise then slides in behind the wheel. He readjusts the seat so it’s more compatible for his legs then starts the car. 

“Is Tanger okay?” he asks once they reach the end of the street. “He’s in that big house all alone. I mean … is everything okay?”

Geno sighs and puts his hand on Sid’s thigh. “Don’t know, really,” he admits. It’s been a while since he’s checked in. “I think, maybe …” He trails off. Maybe he is a little drunk.

“I hope everything is okay. Tanger is a good guy.”

Sid goes quiet as he concentrates on navigating himself out of Tanger’s neighborhood. Once he gets to a familiar spot, he clears his throat.

“You should come with me,” he says, “for bye week. You should come to Nova Scotia with me.”

It takes Geno a moment to process the words and, when he does, he sits up a little straighter in the passenger seat. 

“You want me to go with you?” he asks. “Like … back to childhood home? To meet parents?”

“Well, they’ll be there, yeah. But it’s not like I’m going to introduce you as my … you know. Whatever.”

“Boyfriend,” Geno fills in and Sid nods.

“Yeah, sure.” He glances over at Geno at a red light. “Boyfriend. It’s up to you. You don’t have to, but I wanted to ask you at Christmas. I almost did, but I thought it was too soon. It feels different now, doesn’t it? Isn’t it?”

Geno nods but Sid’s already put his attention back on the road in front of them. “Yes,” he says. “People will know I’m up there with you. People will see us. If guys ask, I have to tell, can’t lie.”

“You wouldn't have to. Guys spend bye weeks together all the time. Plus, you can say you wanted to go so you wouldn’t have any setbacks with your hand. I can still work with you. There’s a rink up there, you could skate. You could tell them you don’t want to miss a step. You’re ready to play again, everyone knows that.”

It’s a good cover, made better by the fact that it’s all true. 

“You want me for a whole week?” Geno asks. “You won’t get sick of me?” Sid takes one hand off the wheel and drops it down to his thigh so he can cover Geno’s hand. He pulls and turns Geno’s hand so he can link their fingers together. 

“No,” Sid says as he squeezes Geno’s hand, “not a chance.” 


	9. Chapter 9

Geno’s leg bounces for almost the entirety of the flight to Halifax. 

He’s sure that, if they were alone or if they were different people, Sid would’ve reached out just after take off and settled his palm over his knee to calm him down. 

But the plane is crowded and even with his hat pulled down low and the collar of his coat flipped up, Geno’s gotten a few looks.

“Are you nervous about being in the air or are you nervous about what will happen when we land?” Sid asks, not looking up from the safety card that had been tucked into the seat back in front of him. 

“Am not a nervous flyer,” Geno says tightly and Sid nods and turns the card over.

“You don’t have to worry about my parents,” Sid tells him. He slides the card back into the pocket and looks at Geno, voice pitching so only Geno will hear. “They like all my friends.”

Geno huffs, his fingers tapping against the armrest in time with his knee. “All?”

“I have very good taste,” Sid tells him with a grin. “Seriously. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Wish you let me pay for private jet,” Geno says as the plane hits a small patch of turbulence. Somewhere toward the back a baby starts to cry. They have nearly eight hours of travel ahead of them, along with two layovers. 

“Maybe on the way back,” Sid says as the baby’s cries turn to sharp, ear-piercing screams.

It’s only quarter past one when they land in Halifax but they’ve been up since four and Geno’s body and mind are beginning to drag. 

He does his best to hide it, though, in the back seat of Sid’s parents’ car, stifling yawns and answering their questions as pleasantly as possible. 

His parents seem nice and his father is very talkative, asking Geno about the power play and the penalty kill and their playoff chances. 

“Dad,” Sid finally says, “can you calm down?”

“I am calm,” Troy says and Sid laughs. 

“You’ve been talking nonstop since we got in the car. I don’t think you’ve taken a single breath.”

“I have to.”

“You have been asking a lot of questions,” Trina says. 

“I’m just excited to have our son home.”

“I was just here,” Sid tells him. “And you haven’t said a word to me. But you’ve been hounding Geno.”

“Not mind,” Geno says quickly, mortified that Sid’s parents might think he’s being rude. “Is okay. Can ask questions.”

“Geno,” Sid says, “you don’t have to do that. We’ve had a really long flight and we got up so early. We’re here all week. Save some hockey talk for later.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Troy apologizes a tad defensively, “but it’s not every day we have an NHL star staying in our home.”

“Really don’t mind talking,” Geno says as he glances across the seat at Sid. Sid rolls his eyes but Geno can tell it’s more out of fondness than annoyance. 

“But maybe after he’s had a nap or some food.”

“Okay,” Troy relents, “we’ll talk at dinner.”

Sid’s parent’s house sits on a quiet suburban street. Troy slows the car so a group of kids playing street hockey can clear out before he pulls into a driveway of a split-level house with a hockey net propped up against the garage. 

“We’re home,” Sid says, sounding less than thrilled. Before Geno can question him Sid’s pushing open the car door and climbing out. 

They grab their bags out of the trunk then follow Sid’s parents up the front steps, pausing on the stairs so Troy can open the front door. 

The inside of the house is warm and lived in, with family photos on the wall and across the mantel above the fireplace. 

It’s easy to spot Sid, with chubby cheeks and a toothy grin in a tiny hockey jersey or dressed up like a cowboy for Halloween. 

He could happily spend the entire week going from photograph to photograph, cooing over how cute Sid was.

Sid seems to have other plans because he tugs on Geno’s bag and tips his head down the hallway, asking him to follow.

“Come on,” Sid says. “I’ll show you to your room.”

He follows Sid down the hall and into a room with dark blue walls and a twin bed. There’s a desk by the window and a dresser topped with more framed photographs and a few trinkets; toy cars and a couple of hockey pucks.

“This is mine,” Sid says as he puts his bag down. “You’re across the hall in Taylor’s room.”

Taylor’s room is about the same size but with twice the character. There are more photos tacked onto bulletin boards beside stubs from movie and concert tickets. Trophies and medals line the shelves above the bed. 

“Your sister play hockey?” Geno asks, leaning up to read the inscriptions. 

“She’s a goalie,” Sid says. He’s lingering in the doorway with his hands jammed into his pocket. “She’s been playing all her life.”

“Is cooler than you,” Geno jokes. Sid doesn’t laugh. “You okay?” he asks and Sid steps out of the doorway and into the room. 

“You sure you want to stay here,” he asks, voice dropping so his parents can’t hear him down the hall. 

“Where else I stay?” Geno asks. He puts his bag down on the bed and folds his arms over his chest. 

“You could take my room and I could sleep in here or we could find you a hotel.”

“You not want me here?” Geno asks and Sid shakes his head.

“Of course I want you here. I’m the one who invited you.”

“Then why you act all …” Geno uncrosses one of his arms and waves it at Sid, hoping to sum up what he’s trying to say in the simple gesture. “Act like this.”

“I’m just …” Sid trails off and takes a deep breath. “Having some doubts.”

“About me being here?” “No. Yes. It’s not you.”

“Not making sense, Sid.”

“It’s my dad,” Sid says, voice still soft. “And all his questions and this house and that bed that’s too small and this town where nothing happens. And I’m worried that this is how you’re going to see me because this is what I am.”

“A too-small bed?” Geno asks and Sid rolls his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Really don’t.”

Sid sighs. “You don’t do small towns. That’s not who you are.”

“Am from a small town,” Geno says. “I take you home and all you see are factories and ice rinks.”

“But how many times do you actually go there?”

Geno opens his mouth to answer then snaps it shut. If he’s not in Pittsburgh, he’s in Miami or Moscow or vacationing somewhere with beautiful beaches and an extravagant nightlife. 

“This is who I am,” Sid tells him, “and this is where I want to be and I’m starting to worry that maybe it’s too slow for you.”

Geno sighs and steps forward, meeting Sid in the middle of the room. “Sid,” he says, “I come home from Miami early because it was too fast. I think that maybe, now, slower is good. Is what I need.”

“Yeah, but —”

Geno closes the distance and presses a quick kiss to Sid’s lips, silencing any doubts Sid has. “Want to be here,” he says. “Want slow.”

“What about boring?”

Geno rolls his eyes and kisses him again. “With you, is never boring.” He puts his hand on Sid’s shoulder and squeezes. “Now, we take nap?”

“Not together,” Sid says, laughing as Geno frowns. “I think my parents would notice that.”

“Would almost be worth it to let them know about us.”

“I still don’t think it would fly,” Sid says. “Maybe when we’re married.” Sid’s eyes go wide. “If we get married. I mean that’s not — I don’t think — we’re not.” He trips over his words as he stumbles backwards toward the door, red in the face. “I was just talking, I don’t think that’s … I mean, I don’t think about that. I don’t think —” He backs into the doorframe and winces. “You know what? I’m gonna take a nap now, bathroom is down the hall if you need it.” He rolls out of the room and Geno hears the door to Sid’s room slam shut. 

Geno stands there for a moment, processing, before he starts to smile. 

Despite the small size, the bed is actually very comfortable. After washing his face and changing into sweatpants, Geno falls asleep quickly. 

It’s dark when he wakes, no light peeking around the edge of the drawn curtains. 

He can hear voices from down the hall, quiet and muffled. When he checks his phone, he finds it’s after six. Sid and his parents are probably cooking dinner while he slept. 

He throws off the covers and gets up. He runs a hand through his hair and opens the door. He can hear them more clearly now, talking about their plans for the week. Geno walks quietly down the hall as Sid tosses out a few ideas. He apparently doesn’t have anything set in stone but he wants to know if he can borrow the car. 

“If not I can rent one, I guess,” Sid says and his mother tsks. 

“Save your money. Of course you can take the car. You know, you should bring Geno down to the pier.”

“Mom.”

“You know Adam has been asking after you.”

“Mom,” Sid says again, clearly exasperated. Geno stops at the entrance to the living room, where he can see the kitchen clearly. Troy is stirring something in a pot on the stove while Sid chops vegetables on the counter. Trina hovers between them, checking in. “What?” Trina asks innocently. “I’m sure he’d like to know you’re back in town.”

“For a week,” Sid shoots back. He’s changed into a soft blue sweater and Geno’s fingers itch to touch. He wants to lay his hand across the small of Sid’s back and crowd in close as he works. “We broke up for a reason.”

“Because you were leaving,” his mother says and Sid shakes his head.

“That’s not even half of it. Plus, I’m not interested.”

“Why wouldn’t you be? He’s so cute.”

“Mom,” Sid whines and Geno has to stifle a laugh. “I’m over it. I’ve moved on.”

“To what?” Trina asks. “I hate thinking of you all alone and so far from home.”

“I’m not.” Sid starts then stops and heaves a sigh. There’s not much he can say. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

“How can I not?”

“Trina,” Troy starts, “ease up on him.”

“Don’t you worry?” Trina asks. Before Troy can answer Geno shifts his weight and the floorboard squeaks beneath his feet. 

Sid and his parents turn around to face him at the same time and Geno waves from the shadows. 

“Right on time,” Trina says happily. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” Geno says, venturing out toward the kitchen. The table is already set with plates and glasses. “For long time. Should have woke me up,” he says to Sid. “Would have helped.”

“Too many cooks,” Trina says as she gently pushes Sid out of the way so she can open the drawer in front of him. She pulls out a handful of silverware and gives it to Sid. “Finish setting the table and sit,” she tells him. “I’ll finish up here.” 

They do talk about hockey over dinner. They talk about how the playoffs are only a few months away and how excited Geno is to get back to playing. 

When that conversation peters out Sid’s parents take over, talking about shopping lists and how the car is going to need an oil change soon. 

“If you happen to be out,” Trina says to Sid, “would you mind?”

Sid shakes his head and Trina pats his hand, a fond smile on her face. Sid smiles back and it makes Geno warm all over to see Sid happy like this. 

After dessert, because apparently a strong sweet tooth is in the Crosby genes, Geno insists on helping clean up. He rinses their plates and helps Sid load the dishwasher before wiping down the counter and the table and preens when Trina fusses over him and calls him a polite young man. 

Sid rolls his eyes and announces that they’ll be heading down to the basement to watch TV. 

“You can watch it up here,” Troy says, feet already kicked up in his recliner in the living room with the remote in his hand.

“You like to watch the news now,” Sid says and Geno clucks his tongue.

“You don’t?” he teases and Sid shoots him a look and pushes him toward the basement door. 

“Just go,” Sid says before adding quietly. “Trust me.”

The basement is mostly unfinished. The washer and dryer sit on bare concrete near the hot water heater, but there’s carpeting down the opposite end, along with a ping-pong table, a bubble hockey table and a television set in front of a worn leather couch. 

“What we going to watch?” Geno asks. 

Sid answers by pushing him down onto the couch and climbing onto his lap.

“Oh,” Geno says, taking Sid’s weight, “okay.”

Sid kisses him soundly then drags his lips down the side of his neck while Geno grabs fistfuls of Sid’s sweater to pull him closer. It’s as soft as it looks and Sid’s skin beneath it burns hot against the palm of his hand. 

“This where you take all your boys?” Geno teases. He’s tipped sideways so his head is resting against the arm of the couch, allowing Sid to stretch out on top of him. 

Sid huffs a breath against Geno’s lips then bites at his jaw. 

“Bet this was big move in high school,” Geno continues. “Come over, watch TV, play ping-pong, you say. Parents gone. Then you do this.”

“I wasn’t doing much of anything in high school.”

“Lies,” Geno says. “I see pictures of you upstairs. Very cute.”

Sid barks out a laugh, loud enough that Geno’s sure Sid’s parents heard it upstairs. “Now who’s the liar?” 

“This where you take Adam?” Geno asks. Sid pulls back and blinks down at him. 

“How much of that did you hear?”

Geno shrugs and runs his hand along Sid’s thigh. “All. Your mama says he misses you.”

Sid hums and moves all the way back to the opposite side of the couch so their only point of contact are Sid’s toes against Geno’s shins. 

“I don’t want to see him,” Sid says and Geno nods.

“Okay.”

“But we might. I mean, it’s a small town and if he finds out that I’m here ...”

“You miss him?”

Sid shakes his head. “Not even a little bit.”

“Would be normal,” Geno reasons. “You break up because you leave for new job he stays ...

“That’s not why we broke up,” Sid says. “Not really.”

Geno raises his eyebrows and Sid sighs. 

“I asked him to go with me to Pittsburgh when I got the job,” Sid says. “We had been together for three years. I thought maybe it was time to take the next step. He said he’d have to think about it, and that was fine. I mean, he works on the docks. There’s not much for him to do in a landlocked state, you know? So I told him to take some time. I didn’t have to be in Pittsburgh until the end of summer. He had time. But, a couple of weeks after that, I go over to his place and find him with another guy. So … that was that.”

“Sid,” Geno starts but Sid waves him off. 

“It’s fine. I mean, we were heading for a break up anyways, right?”

“But you weren’t broken up. You still think that maybe he would go with you.”

“That was stupid,” Sid says softly, “to ever think he would want to go.”

“Not stupid,” Geno stresses, sitting up so he can reach for Sid. “You never tell your mama?”

“I didn’t have the heart to. Adam said it was a one-time thing and it didn’t mean anything and my mom liked him so much … I was leaving and he was staying, so I just let her think that was it.”

Geno shakes his head. “I kill him if we see him.”

The corners of Sid’s mouth turn up. “You don’t even know who he is.”

“If I find out,” Geno says, “I kill. Or at least beat up.”

“And re-injure your hand?”

Geno looks down at his hand and flexes his fingers, feeling the lingering soreness. “I do something. Make him feel bad.”

“You really don’t have to,” Sid says. “It all worked out anyways.” He leans forward and pushes until Geno’s lying back against the couch again. “If I had brought him to Pittsburgh with me, we wouldn't be here right now.”

“And I just pine and pine and pine,” Geno says, mouth catching Sid’s for a kiss. 

They lose time like that, rucking up shirts and shifting hips, too caught up in making out like teenagers to hear the basement door open at the top of the stairs. 

“We’re headed to bed,” Troy calls down as Sid springs away from Geno so fast he nearly falls off the couch. “We’ll see you boys in the morning. I’ll make pancakes.”

“Okay. thanks, Dad,” Sid calls while Geno squeaks out a goodnight. 

The door closes and they stare at each other, wide eyed. 

“You think he knows?” Geno asks. Sid shakes his head.

“No. You can’t see the couch from that angle and I think we sounded normal.”

Geno nods but glances at the black television screen. “Could have at least turned on TV.”

Sid groans and rubs at his eyes. “I still think we’re okay.” He drops his hand and looks across the empty space on the couch at Geno. “They’re going to bed,” he says and Geno nods. 

“Won’t interrupt again.”

Sid grins and climbs back over, his hand running up Geno’s thigh. “How quiet can you be?” Sid asks. Geno grins and pulls him in for a kiss. 

*

In the morning Sid’s father makes pancakes. Four different kinds of pancakes. Plain, chocolate chip, blueberry and banana. 

“It’s always good to have variety,” Troy says as he sets the platter down in front of the two of them. 

Sid only looks mildly embarrassed before he eats his fill. 

“What’s on the schedule today, boys,” Trina asks as she sits down with her cup of coffee. “Did you decide on anything last night?”

Sid ducks his head and Geno presses their knees together under the table. They didn’t decide much of anything last night, except for Sid deciding Geno could give him a hickey way down low on the base of his neck. 

“I think maybe we’ll just hang out,” Sid says, clearing his throat and pulling up the collar of his well-worn sleep shirt. “Maybe drive around.”

“If you happen to drive around a grocery store, I have a list,” Trina says, standing and pulling a note off the fridge. She hands it to Sid before kissing the top of his head. “Thank you, sweetheart.” Sid nods. 

Geno spends the rest of breakfast grinning at the blush on Sid’s face. 

They help with the dishes after breakfast then shower and get dressed for the day. Geno barges into Sid’s room while he’s still changing and Sid yelps and grabs for the blanket on his bed. 

Geno rolls his eyes and shuts the door before flopping down onto the bed, pillowing his head on his arms. “Why you worry? I’m see it all before.”

“Not with my parents down the hall you haven’t.”

“Hockey players,” he says, gesturing between the two of them. “Naked is no big deal.”

“I’m not a hockey player,” Sid says as he bends over to dig through his bag, giving Geno a nice view of his ass that Geno is sure to admire. 

“No,” Geno says, “just built like one.”

Sid gives him a look then tosses a clean sweater at his head. Geno catches it easily and balls it up beneath his chin. 

“Your parents are cute,” he says. Sid wrinkles his nose as he pulls on a pair of jeans. “Love you lots.”

“Well, yeah,” Sid says as he pulls the sweater back from Geno. 

“Miss you lots.”

“I don’t think they ever expected me to take a job so far away,” Sid says, voice muffled when he pulls the sweater over his head. “I’m not five minutes away anymore and, with Taylor at school, it’s like they’re true empty-nesters. “I bet your parents feel the same way.”

Geno blows out a breath and rolls onto his back as Sid grabs his watch off the top of the dresser. “Been long time since I’ve been living with them.” He lets his head hang off the bed so he can look at an upside down Sid. “Think they would like to meet.”

Sid looks over at him. “Meet me?”

Geno rolls his eyes dramatically. “Who else I’m talk about? They come over for playoffs. Should meet them.”

Sid fiddles with the clasp on his watch, clearly nervous. Geno gets it. He’s not sure how the meeting would go. His mother would probably see right through him. She’d take one look at his face as he watched Sid or hear the warmth in his voice as he talked about him and that would be it. She would know and then what? How would she take it? How would his father take it? How would Russia take it if it ever found out? 

He rubs his hand against his chest, trying to ease the sudden heavy feeling sitting there, and takes a deep breath. 

“You okay?” Sid asks and Geno nods. 

He’s okay. It’ll be okay. 

“Good,” Sid says, leaning down for a quick kiss. “Get your feet off my bed. Lets go.”

*

The town is small but Sid does his best to be a good tour guide. He shows Geno the elementary school he went to and then the middle and high schools. 

“You popular?” Geno asks as they drive through the parking lot. Sid shakes his head. 

“I had friends,” he says, “but it wasn’t like I was a big deal. What about you? Were you popular?”

“Yes,” Geno says simply and Sid laughs. 

“Yeah,” he says as he pulls back onto the street. “I can see that.”

Sid next takes him to the ice rink where he first learned to skate. 

It’s an old building that could probably use a couple hundred thousand dollars worth of renovations, but the ice feels good beneath Geno’s feet and that’s all that really matters. 

“How old?” Geno asks as they skate lazy circles around the rink. It’s free skate, so the middle is filled with families and little kids who manage to glide only a few feet before they fall down. “How old when you start?”

“Three, I think. I was bad, I mean, obviously. I don’t even know if you’d count it as skating.”

Geno slides out and skates backwards in front of him. “You never want to do more? Play hockey?”

“I did play hockey.”

“Know what I mean. Go pro. Play with me, maybe. Could be teammates instead of …” He trails off.

“You think I would’ve made it to the Pens?” Geno hums and nods, then turns so he’s skating beside Sid again. “Think so,” he says. 

“Do you think we’d still be ...” Sid trails off, too. “If I was actually on the team.” 

“Yes,” Geno says, not needing a moment to think it over. “Yes, for sure.”

Sid nods, the backs of their hands brushing together with every stride. 

They eat lunch at a sandwich shop where the man behind the counter greets Sid with a huge smile and asks about his parents. Sid asks about his kids and how they’re doing in school. Geno stands off to the side, basking in anonymity. 

It’s the same at the grocery store, where Sid chats with someone new in every aisle. 

“And you say you not popular,” Geno teases and Sid shakes his head. 

“I’m not. It’s a small town. People are friendly.”

“They think you such a good boy,” Geno says, as he pushes the cart alongside Sid. “Why you get job so far away, Sidney?” he continues, mimicking the last woman’s voice. “You go all the way to America, Sidney. Is too far.”

“Stop,” Sid warns, but his voice is light and his eyes are bright. Clearly he’s enjoying the attention. 

“They love,” Geno says, reaching out to pinch at Sid’s cheek. 

Sid bobs out of the way, laughing as he nearly collides into a display of paper towels. “I said knock it off.” 

Geno goes quiet for a bit after that, following Sid around the store and checking things off Trina’s list. Finally, when they get close to the registers, he speaks again. “When you going to take me to the pier?” 

Sid snorts. “Never.”

“Why not?”

Sid gives him a cutting look. “I think you know why.”

“Then what we doing for the rest of week? Already skate, already shop …”

“Are you bored already?”

“Not bored,” Geno defends, “just … curious.”

“I have plans,” Sid tells him. 

“Like basement couch plans?” Geno asks. “Not that I mind, was lots of fun but —”

“I have other ideas.”

“Really don’t want me to meet Andrew, do you?”

“Adam,” Sid corrects and Geno rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever. I promise to be nice,” he says. Now it’s Sid’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Yeah, right. It’s down by the water, G, it’s winter, you’ll get cold and then you’ll complain about being cold …”

“Wear one of your jackets. Make him jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” Sid asks. “You’re my friend, remember. There’s nothing to be jealous about.” Sid’s tone is sharp, verging on the edge of annoyance as he steps to the front of the cart and pulls it forward. 

Geno lets it go for the moment. He helps Sid unload the groceries onto the belt then slips behind him so he can start bagging while Sid makes small talk with the cashier and pays. 

They load up the car and Sid returns the cart to the cart return while Geno gets in the car and waits.

Sid’s face still looks pinched when he gets back and starts the car, turning the heat on full blast before pulling out of the parking space. 

Sid sighs at every red light they hit and Geno can feel the tension in the car growing until he feels like it’s so thick he can barely breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” Geno tells him. Sid flinches at the sudden noise. “Just hate that there is someone out there that made you feel bad,” Geno tells him and the stiff line of Sid’s shoulders fall. “Hate it. But I’m think you are happy now,” his voice drops, even though they’re alone, “with me. And I’m want him to see that. That you okay without him. Right now it just feels like he get away with something.”

“He didn’t get away with anything,” Sid says after a moment of silence. “But you are right, I am happy with you.” He slides his right hand off the wheel and holds it out to Geno. 

Geno smiles and laces their fingers together. They stay like that until Sid pulls into his parent’s driveway. 

By the time they’re finished with the groceries, the neighbor kids are out of school and it doesn’t take long for a street hockey game to break out. 

Geno feels nervous when Sid suggests that he go out and join in, given the way he was ignored by the adults in town, but the kid’s faces immediately light up when they see him. 

With Geno accepted into the group, the teams are lopsided, which means Sid gets bullied into playing so he has to turn around and grab a second adult stick from inside.

Sid is good with the kids but absolutely merciless with Geno, throwing his weight around and using his body to push Geno away from the puck each time it touches his stick. 

It’s frustrating and Geno can only put up with it for so long before he explodes. 

“If you don’t move big ass,” Geno shouts and Sid steps back while the kids dissolve into laughter around them. 

They’ve heard worse, unfortunately, but Geno still feels like he’s crossed some kind of line by raising his voice.

But Sid doesn’t look upset. He looks amused and vaguely interested and he takes the step back toward Geno and tilts his head to the side. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” he asks, too soft for the still giggling kids behind him to hear. 

Geno doesn’t get to answer before front doors begin to open and mothers begin to call their children inside for dinner, including Trina. 

“It’s just like having a little kid again,” Trina says as Sid and Geno take off their boots and jackets in the mudroom and rest their sticks against the wall. 

After dinner, Geno follows Sid back down to the basement, where Sid pops a movie into an ancient DVD player. 

“This first one that ever come out?” Geno asks as Sid falls onto the couch beside him. Geno rests his arm across the top of the couch then drops it to Sid’s shoulders, the first attempt at making a move.

Sid keeps his eyes on the screen but the corners of his lips quirk up. “We should probably head to bed early tonight. I have plans for tomorrow.”

“Have plans now,” Geno says as he tugs gently at Sid’s earlobe.

“Would they have anything to do with my big ass?”

Geno nods and leans in and Sid lets himself be pushed back against the cushions.

The following morning Sid wakes Geno while the house is still quiet and the stars are still bright in the sky. 

“Have got to be kidding,” Geno mumbles as he presses his face into his pillow. “Go away.”

“We gotta get an early start,” Sid says. He’s fully dressed, right down to his shoes and the toque on his head. “I told you last night I had plans.”

“Not know you mean at —” He lifts his head to look at the digital clock on Taylor’s bedside table. “Four-thirty in morning.”

“We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us.” Sid smacks Geno’s ass over the blanket. “Come on, get up.”

“Hate you,” Geno tells him but he kicks the blankets off and stands up. 

He gets dressed in a fog and takes the thermos Sid hands him when he stumbles into the dimly lit kitchen then lets Sid herd him out the front door, down the steps and into Trina’s car. 

“Need more caffeine,” Geno says when he’s emptied the thermos by the time they hit the highway. 

“We can stop at Tim Hortons.”

“They have tea?”

“Yeah, but you probably won’t like it.”

“Don’t care,” Geno says as he shifts his body, trying to find a comfortable position in which to fall asleep. “Just need it.”

Sid pulls off at the next exit and gets Geno his watered down tea and a box of Timbits for them to share. 

Geno eats a few and starts to feel himself wake up just as the sun peeks over the horizon. 

“Where we going?” he asks as Sid swallows the doughnut hole he’s been chewing. 

“A hike.”

Geno stares at him. “You wake me up early for hike?”

“I like to get going early. Less people.”

“Less people.”

“Then there might be no people.”

Geno stares at him for a moment longer then shakes his head and rests it back against the cool window. “Hate you,” he says, “for real.”

Geno must doze off because the next time he wakes they’re stopped in a deserted parking lot with the sea in front of them. The sky is grey and cloudy and the waves look choppy. 

“Looks cold,” Geno says and Sid hums. 

“It is,” he says. “Are you ready to go?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just opens the car door as Geno flinches back from the gust of salty sea air that blows in. 

The trail follows the rocky coastline and Geno’s torn between keeping his eyes on the ground and looking out at the view. It’s beautiful. Stunning. Untouched by anything but nature and Geno keeps stopping and pulling off his gloves so he can take pictures. His fingers are like ice and it’s a struggle to get them back into his gloves. It doesn’t last long, however. Sid steps in and cradles Geno’s bare hands between his own to warm them up.

“Are you going to post all those?”

“Only good ones,” Geno says. 

“People are going to know where you are.”

“People already know.”

“No, like, people-people. Fans. The public.”

“So?”

“You’re not worried about rumors or anything?”

Geno shrugs as Sid holds out the gloves so Geno can slip his hands in. 

“Wasn’t going to lie when we get back. You know, if reporters ask. Everyone in town here already see me so ...” “I actually don’t even know if they noticed you,” Sid says as he pats Geno’s hands. “They were all so excited to see me.”

“You not lie,” Geno says. “This why you bring me out here, all alone, no people to see?”

“I brought you out here because I think it’s pretty and we needed something to do and I think you’re funny when you get woken up early.”

“Worst, Sid,” Geno says, but he leans down and presses a kiss to Sid’s cold nose anyways. 

They walk for miles, alternating between walking along the sand and over rocks. The clouds break and the sun comes out and Geno tips his face toward the warmth. It’s still cold, though, and his face feels as windburned as Sid’s looks. 

It’s still too early for lunch by the time they get back to the car so they sit for a while with the heat on, warming their bones.

“We could go into the city tomorrow,” Sid says, fingers fanned out in front of the vents. “There are a couple of museums we could check out, and the Citadel.”

“Like the idea of museums,” Geno says. “Sound warm.”

For lunch, they eat the thickest fish chowder Geno has ever had, his spoon nearly standing on its own in the bowl. 

It’s good, though, warm and filling, and the restaurant feels homey and rustic, with only a handful of tables packed into a small space. They tuck themselves away in the back, knees pushed together beneath the table. 

“You look tired,” Sid says after he comes back from settling the bill. “You didn’t even fight me on paying.”

“You make me walk in cold, you pay.” He looks at the two paper cups in Sid’s hand. “What’s that?”

“Hot chocolate, for dessert.” He holds one cup out to Geno. “You look like you could use it.”

Geno sighs after he takes the first sip. It’s rich and topped with real whipped cream. 

“You still hate me?” Sid asks and Geno shakes his head. 

“Not even a little bit.”

Back in Cole Harbour, Trina asks to see pictures and asks them how lunch was before she leaves them to themselves. They kick back in the living room, Geno spread out on the couch and Sid in Troy’s recliner. Geno snorts. 

“Look like old man over there,” he says.

“You’re not any better,” Sid scoffs.

“I’m know, I’m know,” Geno says. “Is what happens when I’m not play for months.”

“You’ll be good to go when we get back.”

Geno’s head snaps up. “You think?” 

“That’s always been the plan. Your hand is strong. I don’t see why the doctor wouldn’t sign off on it.”

Hockey is right there. It’s so close. And part of him wants to run back to Pittsburgh right now but, at the same time, he doesn’t want to leave here. Where he spends all his time with Sid and it’s relaxed and comfortable and people don’t pay much attention to him. He wouldn’t be Evgeni Malkin here. He’d just be Sidney Crosby’s boyfriend. That’s more than enough. 

“It’s gonna be good,” Sid assures, voice cutting through the turmoil in Geno’s brain. “I promise.”

Geno barely makes it through dinner, and the short walk down the hall to his room feels like it stretches on for miles. 

He’s exhausted and he’s sure that, after a hot shower, he’ll fall asleep right away. 

Instead, he ends up tossing and turning on the small twin mattress, trying desperately to get comfortable even as his muscles beg him to settle down. 

He’s restless. He can’t quiet his body or his mind and after what feels like forever he gives up, gets up and stumbles across the hall. 

Sid’s still awake, the light on the bedside table clicked on the lowest setting, and there’s a book across his lap. 

He looks surprised to see Geno and even more surprised when Geno lifts up the edge of the covers and tries to crawl beneath. 

“Uh, we’re not having sex in here,” Sid says. “This isn’t the basement. Sound travels up here.”

“Who say anything about sex?” Geno says as he pokes at Sid’s side, urging him to scootch over. “Am so tired all I could do is lay there.”

“How is that different from every other time?” Sid jokes. Geno laughs sarcastically and pinches his waist. 

“Move over or I lay on you.”

Sid sighs and inches over. “Any more and I’m off the bed.”

“Is fine,” Geno says as he stretches out alongside him. He throws his arm over Sid’s waist and hooks his leg over Sid’s thighs to keep him in place. “It works. Can’t sleep over there. Can’t find good spot.”

“And this is better?”

Geno hums and buries his face into Sid’s shoulder as he tightens his arm around Sid’s body. “Much.”

“Do you want me to turn off the light?” Sid asks but Geno’s already drifting off and falls asleep before he can answer. 

*

Geno raises the mug to his lips and blows out over the steaming surface of the tea. The smell of honey and lemon floods his senses and warms his body before he can even take a sip. It’s still far too hot to drink but they’re not in any kind of hurry.

Across from him Sid’s leaning back in his chair, hands wrapped around the mug holding his latte as he looks out the window at the boats on the water. 

They had spent the afternoon on Citadel Hill, getting chilled to the bone in the wind as the sky clouded over and snowflakes began to fall. 

Before that they toured the Museum of Immigration at Pier 21. They took their time wandering around the exhibits and reading all the placards.

Sid told him about his family coming over from Scotland generations ago and Geno in turn told him that he thinks he’s the first in his family ever to leave Russia.

Geno can’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up here, so close to the sea. The three rivers in Pittsburgh and his vacations to Miami aside, he’s used to being landlocked and he’s not sure he would know what to do with all that open water. 

“Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?” Sid asks. Geno takes his eyes off the water and looks across the table at him. 

“Have dinner with you every night.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “I meant just the two of us, without my parents. We’ll go out.”

“Your parents okay with that?”

Sid snorts. “I don’t think I need to ask their permission to take my boyfriend out on a date,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper for the words _boyfriend_ and _date._

“Where we gonna go?” “I have an idea in mind,” Sid says as he takes another sip of his latte. 

“That’s it. Not going to tell me more?”

“It’s a surprise,” Sid says, “but you still haven’t said yes.”

Geno rolls his eyes and kicks at Sid’s foot. “Yes. Of course, yes. Would love to have dinner with you.”

Sid’s smile is almost shy as he ducks his head and Geno presses their feet together, knees knocking as he does so, a sly substitute for holding Sid’s hand. 

Back at Sid’s parents’ place, Geno takes a quick shower to warm up all the way. As he dresses he hears Sid talking to his mother in the kitchen, giving her a quick rundown of how they spent their morning and what their plans are for tonight.

“I think we’ll go out tonight,” he hears Sid say. “We’ll do dinner and then maybe go get a drink.”

“That sounds nice, honey.”

“Then maybe we can all go out tomorrow,” Sid says and Geno smiles and shakes his head. Of course Sid wouldn’t leave his parents fully behind. “You know, as kind of like a goodbye dinner.”

“Our treat,” Trina says and Geno can almost hear Sid shake his head. 

“I have money,” Sid says and Geno slowly opens the bathroom door and peeks down the hall. Sid’s helping Trina sort their laundry into lights and darks. 

“Yes, but you are our son. We still get to spoil you on occasion.”

“Geno isn’t your son.”

“No, but I’m sure your father wishes he were.”

Geno flinches at the words at the same time Sid’s mouth sets into a thin line.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Trina says, reaching out to put her hand on Sid’s wrist. “Sidney.”

“I know,” Sid says tightly and Geno steps heavily into the hall, thinking Sid might benefit from the change of subject his presence will surely bring. Sid looks up when Geno walks into the kitchen. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you feel better?” he asks and Geno nods.

“Yes. Is cold out there.”

Sid rolls his eyes fondly. “It’s really not that bad. Just be glad it’s not a blizzard.” He lifts the laundry basket and props it on his hip. “I’m going to bring this downstairs.”

Trina smiles up at him. “Such a sweet boy.”

Troy comes home just as Sid and Geno are stepping out for the evening. He waves off the idea of Sid (and Geno) taking them out to dinner another night. 

“I’m a guest,” Geno says. “Would be like a thank you.”

“You are the guest,” Troy agrees, “which means we treat you. No go,” he says as he practically pushes the two of them out the door. “I’m sure Sid has reservations somewhere.”

When the door shuts behind them, Geno shakes his head. “Too Canadian. Too polite.” 

Sid laughs and Geno follows him to the car. 

“He right?” Geno asks. “You have reservations?”

Sid hums as he reaches for the car door. “Something like that.”

They haven’t been driving for long when Sid pulls into the crowded parking lot of the restaurant. 

It’s a large building fashioned to look like a log cabin and Geno can hear the noise from inside as soon as he climbs out of the car. 

He knows those sounds. He’s heard them time and time again on the road with the guys. This is a sports bar. This is where Sid brought him for their date. 

“Are you coming?” Sid calls, turning back from a few yards ahead. 

On the date in Geno’s mind, Sid reaches his hand out and Geno takes it. In reality, Sid keeps both hands tucked securely in his pockets. 

“I’m coming,” Geno tells him, jogging to catch up. 

The restaurant is crowded and loud, but the hostess happily greets Sid by name and leads the two of them through the maze of tables to an open booth near the back. 

She slides a pair of menus on to the table and promises that their waiter will be right with them. Sid thanks her and starts to shrug off his coat. 

“You come here lots?” Geno asks. Sid nods. 

“It’s basically the place to be, especially when there are games on.” He tips his head toward the bar, where people are standing shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the flat screens. He squints at Geno. “Is everything okay?”

“Is fine,” Geno answers as their waiter appears at the end of the table. 

He sets down two bundles of silverware wrapped in napkins and asks if he can get them anything to drink. 

Sid declines and Geno shakes his head at the waiter and tells him that water will be fine. 

“Are you sure?” Sid asks. “I’m driving but you can get something.”

Geno waves him off and picks up the menu, the words blurring together as he tries to temper the last of his expectations. He glances over the top of the menu and sees that Sid is still looking at him with narrowed eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Because you don’t look okay.”

“Thanks, Sid. Very sweet.”

“I’m just saying. You look like I just told you you’ll be out for the rest of the season. Do you not want to eat here?”

“Is fine, Sid.”

“Just fine?”

Geno heaves a sigh. “Sidney.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t fix it.”

“There is nothing to fix, Sid. Has nothing to do with this place or you.”

“So you admit that something is wrong then?”

Geno hangs his head. Sid will never give up. “Is my own stupid, fault.”

“Tell me.”

“Is very dumb.”

Sid stares and waits, his patience unending. Geno sighs again. 

“Is just …” Geno starts, “when you say we go out, I think we go out like date.”

“This is a date,” Sid says, even though he has to whisper the word. 

“No, I know. But I think like date-date. Romantic date. You know, white table cloths and candles and wine.”

“You could have wine.”

Geno takes a deep breath and tips his head to the side and Sid nods. 

“Okay,” Sid says. “I get it.”

“It was stupid to think.”

“It’s not stupid,” Sid tells him. 

“But is not real,” Geno counters. “And that is okay. That’s life.” He shrugs his shoulders like _“What are you gonna do?”_ “Am still happy to be here with you. Don’t need fancy dinners. Already did that with people I’m like a lot less. I tell you before, am happy to just be with you, don’t care about where we are. Still mean that.” He wants to reach across the table and take Sid’s hands in his own but a party going by bumps their table and jolts them back to reality. “Feel like I ruin things, now.”

“You didn’t,” Sid says quickly. “I just don’t know how to fix this.”

“I tell you, nothing to fix. Is good. I’m happy.” He touches his foot to Sid’s beneath the table. “I promise.” 

Sid doesn’t look convinced but he doesn’t get a chance to argue because they’re interrupted by the waiter setting down their glasses of water. 

They order: Geno gets a salad because hockey is right around the corner and he has to start eating healthier again while Sid gets a burger, too caught up in his own thoughts to order anything more complicated. 

The waiter jots down their order and heads off toward the kitchen. When Geno looks across the table he sees that Sid is staring down at his hands. 

“Definitely ruined the mood,” Geno says and Sid shakes his head but doesn’t look up. 

“Do you want to go? We can go somewhere else.”

“No,” Geno pleads and finally reaches across the table so he can lay his hand across Sid’s forearm. “Want to be here with you. You believe me, yeah?” Slowly, Sid looks up and nods. Geno squeezes his wrist before he moves his hand away. 

“Good, now,” Geno says, looking over Sid’s shoulder where the sign for the restrooms hangs on the back wall. “Am going to run to the bathroom. You will be here when I get back?” “Of course,” Sid says as Geno slides out of the booth. 

“Good, because you look like you are about to run out on me.”

“I would never,” Sid says and Geno reaches out to pat his shoulder before he moves on. 

The men’s room is empty, thankfully, and stays that way until Geno is washing up at the sink. The door opens just as he’s reaching for a towel and a group of men stumble in. They’re tipsy, at best, and they stop and stare as soon as they see Geno.

There is one breath of absolute silence before the dam breaks and one of them surges forward, clumsy on drunk feet.

Phones are pulled out of pockets as they crowd around him, asking for photos and if he’ll say a quick hello to a buddy of theirs who didn’t want to come out tonight. Someone pulls a pen out of a pocket and Geno is pinned against the sink, signing wallets and receipts and phone cases. Geno is stuck there as word spreads and more guys file into the bathroom, looking for an autograph or to tell Geno a story about how they almost made it to the NHL but an injury or a change of heart kept them away. 

Geno’s eventually able to slip away when the conversation turns and the guys are talking more to each other than to him. 

Sid’s still sitting in their booth and Geno touches his shoulder as he walks by. 

“I thought maybe you were shimmying out the window,” Sid says. Geno laughs. 

“Once is enough for that,” he says. “Lots of fans in bathroom. Want autograph, talk. Take time.” He sits down and realizes Sid has his coat on. “You cold?”

Sid shakes his head. “I asked them to make our meals to go.”

Geno heaves a sigh. “Sid.”

“I have an idea. A better idea. I’m gonna fix this.”

“Sid, I tell you —”

“I know, I know. I know what you said, but I also know how your face looks and I just can’t sit here when you’re upset.”

“Sid —”

“Just —” Sid interrupts, “let me do this, okay? Trust me.”

“Always,” Geno says as their waiter sets a brown paper bag on the table between them. 

Geno doesn’t question Sid about where they’re headed. He just sits back and watches the moonlit world fly by outside the passenger window as Sid drives. 

He stays quiet as they pass signs for the lake and doesn’t make a sound when Sid pulls into the driveway of a charming little cottage. 

“This place has been in the family for years,” Sid says as they climb out of the car. He grabs the food off the back seat and meets Geno at the front of the car so he can lead him up the worn path to the front door. “It’s not much,” he says as he hands Geno the food so he can unearth the hide-a-key from beneath a rock under the front window. “But when you’re a kid you don’t really care what it looks like.”

“You spend a lot of time here?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sid says as he sticks the key in the lock and uses his shoulder to push the door open. “Practically spent every single hour of summer here when I was little.” He slides his hand against the wall just inside the door until he hits the switch and flicks on the lights. 

The inside of the cottage is dated, with dark wood paneling on the walls and carpet that’s an off-putting shade of green. The appliances in the kitchen look old — no ice maker in the door of the fridge and he can’t even see a microwave. There also doesn’t appear to be a television in the living room. 

There are drop cloths over the furniture and Sid grabs the one covering the kitchen table and shakes it, sending dust flying. He coughs before wadding it into a ball and tossing it onto the counter. He stops Geno before he can set down their food. 

“Just wait a second, okay,” he says as he slips past Geno and hurries down the dark hallway that must lead to the bedrooms. He returns a moment later, arms full. 

He drapes a new, clean cloth over the table, pulling at it until all the sides are even. Then he grabs the chunky jar candles and sets them down before rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers for a book of matches. He lights the candles then grabs the bag of food from Geno and quickly unpacks it. 

“We winterize this place every year, so we don’t have any running water. We’re gonna have to eat out of the containers and I know that kind of ruins the vibe and all but ...” He shrugs and shakes his head as he places two small containers on the counter. “Dessert,” he says, “for later. And, here —” He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens up Spotify before he hands it over. “Here. If you wanna … I don’t know. Pick out some mood music.” Sid sighs and looks back at the table. “I know this still isn’t what you had in mind. I mean, that’s not even a table cloth, it’s a bedsheet, but it’s the best I can do. It’s the closest I can get to fixing this.” He takes a deep breath and Geno looks from the screen of Sid’s phone to the romantic table setting Sid’s thrown together to Sid’s face, drawn tight with worry. Even after all he’s done he’s still worried that he could have done more. He still wants to go above and beyond. He wants to do whatever he can to make Geno happy. 

Geno doesn’t think he’s ever had a partner care about him that much. 

“G,” Sid starts and Geno tosses Sid’s phone toward the table so he can cradle Sid’s face with both hands. 

Sid looks up at him with wide eyes and the affection that’s been living inside Geno’s chest bubbles over.

He can feel Sid’s pulse beneath his fingers as he leans down for a short kiss before he tells Sid that he loves him. 


	10. Chapter 10

Sid grunts when Geno backs him against the counter and Geno apologizes with another kiss. Geno has one hand on Sid’s hip and the other cupping his face and Sid has both hands up Geno’s shirt, spread flat across his back. The hand on Sid’s hip dips lower so Geno can grab at Sid’s ass and haul him up onto the counter.

Sid huffs against Geno’s mouth as Geno steps between his legs.

They kiss until they’re both panting and Geno’s shirt is rucked up and Sid’s pants are unzipped and unbuttoned.

“There a bedroom here?” Geno asks, pausing as he kisses a line down the side of Sid’s neck.

“Two,” Sid says, “down the hall.”

Geno steps back and tries to pull Sid with him but Sid gets his hands on Geno’s chest and pushes back.

“Dinner,” he says, eyes flitting to the abandoned bag on the table. “My burger is gonna get cold.”

“You hungry right now?” Geno asks, browns raised so high they nearly disappear into his hairline.

“Aren’t you?”

“Not for food,” Geno says as he tucks his face against Sid’s neck, hitting that spot that makes Sid moan and become putty in Geno’s big hands.

“Fine,” Sid says on a long, drawn-out sigh, “we’ll just eat dessert afterwards.”

Geno hums and pulls Sid off the counter. “Sounds good.”

Just like the couch and the table, the bed is covered in a cloth. It’s dusty and Sid takes it off carefully before he drapes a large beach towel over the quilt.

“You think is going to get messy?” Geno teases. Sid rolls his eyes and reaches for him.

“Just in case. It’s easier to smuggle a beach towel home to clean than a quilt.”

“You have lube?”

Sid gives him a disbelieving look. “You think I keep lube at my family’s lake house?”

“You have any on you? Little packet in your wallet?”

“I don’t carry it around with me just in case,” Sid says sounding scandalized. “This wasn’t part of the original plan. I didn’t think we’d end up here.”

“Okay, okay,” Geno says as he kisses Sid quiet. “We figure it out.”

Geno pushes at Sid’s shirt at the same time Sid tries to undo Geno’s pants and it’s a tangled mess of hands and arms and fabric that ends up bunched around Sid’s neck.

“Hang on,” Sid says, voice muffled as Geno tries to pull Sid’s shirt over his head. “Just hang on.”

Geno leans back and Sid sits up so he can finish removing his shirt. Geno watches, eyes wide and bright in the light of the moon as Sid cups Geno’s face in both hands.

“I love you,” Sid says. “I love you so much.”

Geno smiles and leans forward and the weight of the kiss tips Sid back against the bed.

“When we get home,” Geno says, lips hovering above Sid’s as he runs his hand down Sid’s body, “back to Pittsburgh, we do this right. I go slow.” He flicks his thumb over Sid’s nipple just to watch the way his body tenses and how he bites his lip even though there’s no one around to hear him. “I make you feel how much I love you.”

“I think I’m getting the idea,” Sid says breathlessly as Geno ducks his head and kisses a straight line down Sid’s chest.

After, Sid challenges Geno’s love for him by downing the cold burger.

“I've eaten worse,” Sid says around a mouthful of soggy fries.

“When?” Geno asks, horrified. “Where?” “College,” Sid answers. “I’ve eaten dry Ramen because the hot plate that I illegally smuggled into my dorm broke. I’ve drank sour milk because I was too preoccupied with studying for finals to notice that it had gone bad. I’ve —”

“Okay,” Geno says, “I get it. You gross.”

Sid laughs and tosses the remaining fries back into the container before he reaches for Geno.

They eat dessert out on the dock. Even Sid has to admit it’s freezing, so they sit close and bundle themselves up in a spare quilt.

It’s a beautiful night despite the temperature. The sky is clear and filled with stars but Geno keeps getting distracted by the way Sid licks the chocolate cake off his fork.

“It’s nicer in the summer,” Sid says and Geno blinks as Sid’s pink tongue darts out to catch a bit of frosting that’s been hanging on the corner of his mouth. “The lake,” Sid clarifies. “When it’s warmer and there are leaves on the trees. It’s prettier.”

“Maybe I see.”

Sid spears his fork into his cake and gives Geno a strange look. Geno shrugs in return.

“Just saying,” he says casually, “you come here in summer, I have no plans yet.” He shrugs again. “Don’t know how long summer will be, hopefully is short, you know, but … could have some time. If that’s okay?” “You’d really spend some of your summer here?”

“Not going back to Miami,” Geno says. He’s learned that lesson. “Okay if I come here?”

Sid nods. “Yeah, of course, but we’re totally going to get an Airbnb or something. I’m tired of that couch in the basement.”

“Have some good memories of that couch,” Geno teases and Sid laughs.

“Maybe so,” Sid says, “but I’m sure we can make some better ones in an actual bed.”

“You promise?” Geno asks and Sid laughs harder.

Sid’s parents have left the porch light and the light above the stove on but, besides that, the house is dark and quiet.

It feels illicit, like they’re sneaking in after curfew, and Geno leans into the feeling and pushes Sid up against the wall in the dark hallway that leads to their room.

“I never want to stop kissing you,” Geno mumbles in Russian as he kisses and bites at Sid’s neck. “I could do it all night, forever …” “I don’t know what you’re saying,” Sid whispers back, head tilted to the side to give Geno more room, “but it sounds good. You’re gonna leave a mark.”

“I’m careful,” Geno says but he very quickly moves to the opposite side of Sid’s neck.

“You’re cold,” Sid says as he pushes Geno’s chest and takes his hands. The short walk from the car to the front door was enough to send a chill through him, but it’s hard to feel it when Sid brings his hand to his mouth and kisses Geno’s knuckles. “Come take a shower with me.”

The shower is nowhere big enough for the both of them and Geno’s elbows keep hitting the wall, making a _thunk_ that he’s sure is reverberating through the house.

“Just stand still,” Sid says with a quiet laugh as Geno hangs his arms straight down at his sides and Sid works the shampoo through his hair.

Geno closes his eyes as Sid’s fingers massage his scalp. It’s intimate, but there’s no real heat behind it, no intention of taking it further.

They’re both exhausted and Geno leans into Sid, _this close_ to falling asleep standing up.

They switch positions, Sid standing beneath the spray so Geno can soap him up then rinse him off.

“You should stay with me tonight,” Sid says as he tips his head back to wash the shampoo out of his hair. The line of his neck is completely exposed and, even though Geno is tired, he’s not dead. He can’t help but lean in for a quick taste. Sid hums and wraps his arms around Geno’s waist as Geno kisses him. “Yeah, you should definitely stay with me tonight. But just to sleep.”

“Like you could do more?” Geno teases as Sid reaches to turn off the water. “Gonna fall asleep right now.”

“You’re one to talk,” Sid says. At least he tries to. A jaw-cracking yawn interrupts the middle of his sentence.

Geno wraps a towel around his waist and darts across the hall to his room to grab a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. By the time he gets back to Sid’s room, Sid is already in bed. He smiles, eyes already halfway closed when Geno slips through the door, and lifts the corner of the quilt to let him in.

Sid’s room is cold but the body heat Sid throws off more than makes up for it and Geno burrows into the warmth.

“I’m sorry I fucked up dinner,” Sid whispers. He sounds like he’s going to fall asleep any second now.

“You didn’t. Night ended great, yeah?”

Sid nods and wraps his arm around Geno’s waist.

“Is good story,” Geno continues as Sid rests his head on Geno’s shoulder. “Maybe we tell people someday.”

Sid doesn’t answer, already asleep and breathing slow and evenly into the side of Geno’s neck.

Geno wakes to the sound of glass breaking.

He has no idea how long he’s been asleep but the room is still pitch black and Sid’s still sleeping soundly beside him.

It could have been a dream but, when he closes his eyes and listens, really listens, he thinks he can maybe hear movement coming from down the hall.

Slowly, he removes Sid’s arm from his waist and slips out of bed. He has to check. He has to make sure. He’d hate for the Crosby family to be the victims of a home invasion just because he talked himself into thinking he was having a bad dream.

He tip-toes over to the door and presses his ear against it. It’s quiet, but when he cracks it open and peeks out he can see light coming from the kitchen and hear someone shuffling around.

A burglar wouldn’t turn a light on, he thinks, but his curiosity is piqued so he continues down the hall, treading as lightly as he can.

He breathes out an audible sigh of relief when instead of finding a robber in the kitchen, he finds a frustrated looking Trina Crosby holding a broom and a dust pan.

She jumps slightly when she sees the outline of Geno standing in the dark and presses a hand to her heart.

“Oh, Geno, you scared me.”

“You scare me,” Geno says, stepping toward the kitchen and stopping when Trina holds her hands out. “I hear noise, I think maybe someone break in.”

“No break in,” Trina says, “just me and my butterfingers. I dropped a drinking glass. Don’t come any closer until I have cleaned up. I don't want you stepping on a shard in bare feet.”

“Would be okay,” Geno says but he doesn’t move from his spot. “Would just wake Sid to come fix me.”

Trina laughs as she sweeps the shards that she can see into a pile and then makes a larger circle, collecting the ones that ended up farther away.

“I’ll vacuum in the morning,” she says as she dumps the pan into the trash. “I don’t want to wake anyone.”

“Why you awake?” Geno asks as he steps to the opposite side of the table and Trina grabs another glass from the cabinet.

“Can’t sleep,” Trina explains as she fills the glass with water. “It happens sometimes. Just a touch of insomnia. You know how it goes.”

“Want to talk?” Geno asks. Trina raises her eyebrows as she takes a long sip of water. “Might make you feel better.”

Trina waves her hand and sighs. “It’s nothing really. Just little things that moms worry about. But at night, with nothing else to think about, they seem bigger.” She pulls out a chair from the kitchen table and sits down. Geno does the same on the opposite side. It looks like she’s content to sit in silence, so Geno clears his throat.

“When I first get to Pittsburgh,” he starts, “I was always so tired. So much practice and media and English … was a lot. I think I should sleep well but I can’t seem to get head to quiet down. Would think about this thing and that thing — would go ’round and ’round; couldn’t get it to stop. Sometimes I call my mama and we talk for hours. Was only thing that would help.”

Trina stares down at the table in front of her and smiles. “You’re a very sweet boy.”

“You worry about Sid,” Geno says and Trina’s smile fades.

“It’s normal for parents to worry about their children. I worry about Taylor, too, but —”

“Is not the same.”

Trina shakes her head. “I don’t worry that Taylor will be judged for her relationships or that she’ll be made to feel uncomfortable about who she is.”

“No one judge Sid,” Geno says. He can tell Trina has to fight to not roll her eyes.

“Dear,” she says, “I know how sports work. I know how men are. I know they say things, thinking they’re funny when they’re really not.”

Geno opens his mouth then snaps it shut as he thinks back to the conversation he had with Sid all those months ago before they were even together. Sid said he knew what hockey players were like and how’d they’d sometimes say things even if they didn’t mean them. Back then, Geno couldn’t make promises that his team would be any different and even now … Geno can’t be everywhere at once. He doesn’t know what’s happening in rooms that he’s not in.

“I don’t know if Sid could ever bring a boyfriend to a team event. Could he? Would that be okay? Would no one raise an eyebrow or whisper behind his back?”

“It’s —” _Complicated_ dies on Geno’s tongue. She doesn’t know that he’s in the same boat. That he’s not sure how the team — or the world — would react to the truth about them. He can’t tell her that, whatever happens, they’ll go through it together. “He’s happy,” Geno says instead, because he knows that’s true. “Can promise you.”

Trina smiles softly and reaches across the table to touch his arm. “You’re a sweet boy,” she says again. “And I can tell that Sid thinks you’re one of the good ones. He wouldn’t have brought you home if he didn’t. But there are some things you can’t understand.”

Geno clenches his jaw so hard he hears it click over the sound of Trina pushing out her chair and standing up.

“I think I should get back to bed before Troy wakes up and wonders where I am.”

Geno nods, the weight of the conversation laying across his shoulders as Trina pats his upper arm.

“You should get some sleep, too,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll need some energy for whatever Sid has planned for you tomorrow.”

Despite the heaviness he’s feeling, Geno huffs a laugh and wishes her a good night. He waits to hear the door to her bedroom close before he pushes himself up and goes back to Sid.

Sid’s still asleep, arm stretched out across the empty space. He makes a soft sound when Geno lifts it and slides beneath.

“Where’d you go?” Sid mumbles as he folds himself against Geno’s body.

“Just got some water,” Geno says as he wraps his arm around him. He presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Go back to sleep.”

The next time Geno wakes, it’s to lips against his neck and a warm hand beneath his shirt.

He can feel Sid’s smile against his skin as soon as Sid realizes he’s awake. Geno hums and works his arm free from under the covers.

He threads his fingers through Sid’s hair and tugs just enough to get Sid to lift his head and look up at him.

The room is still dark, with only weak, watery light slipping in through the gap around the curtains.

“Morning.”

“It’s barely morning,” Sid says. “It’s early.”

“You horny this early?”

“I’m pretty much always horny with you, it doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“You the one that says no sex in this bed.”

“I know,” Sid says, teeth grazing Geno’s skin. “I’m an idiot.”

Geno laughs and Sid swings his leg over Geno’s thighs, pushing himself closer as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to Geno’s throat.

Geno closes his eyes and plays with the short hairs on the back of Sid’s neck.

It’s good like this, slow and lazy, and it would be so easy to roll his hips and hear Sid moan.

Geno wants to give in and get off but, no matter how hard he tries or how far Sid’s hand slides up his chest, he can’t get the conversation with Trina out of his mind.

“You okay?” Sid asks and Geno opens his eyes just to roll them. Of course Sid would pick up on it.

“Is nothing.”

Sid looks unconvinced and pinches Geno’s nipple, making him hiss.

He pulls his hand out of Sid’s hair and slaps at Sid’s hand. “Don’t, Sid.”

“Then tell me,” Sid says and Geno heaves a huge sigh. He runs at his chest for a moment before slipping his fingers back into Sid’s hair.

“Was just thinking … maybe we tell your parents.”

Sid narrows his eyes. “Tell them what.”

“About us.”

Sid blinks then sits up. “What are you talking about?”

“Talking about telling your parents. Think they should know.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Talk to your mama last night —”

“When was that?”

“Was late, after we go to sleep. I tell you I went for water when I get back.”

“I thought I was dreaming,” Sid says quietly.

Geno runs his fingers across the bend of Sid’s knee. “Think it would be better if they knew.” He shrugs. “Easier.”

“What did she say to you?”

“She just worry.”

“That’s what moms do.”

“I’m know but … she thinks you can’t bring boyfriend to team things. She thinks you won’t be comfortable and that people won’t accept you.”

“They probably won’t.”

“Sid.” He slides his hand up to Sid’s hip and squeezes. “She thinks you are alone. Would be better if she knew we had each other, yes? Plus, don’t have to lie. Have to make you feel better.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her yourself?”

“Not my place to say.”

“And it’s mine? I’d be outing you.”

“Not if I say you should tell. Listen, don’t have to tell them now, don’t have to tell them at all. I’m just saying, is okay with me if they know.”

“You’re sure?”

Geno nods. “Won’t call up reporters in Pittsburgh and tell, will they? Won’t post on Twitter?”

Sid laughs. “Definitely not.”

“And I’m know they like me.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “They love you.”

“And I’m know they love you. Should be okay.”

“Should be,” Sid repeats.

“Just think, okay? Is up to you.”

“It would be a big step,” Sid says and Geno nods.

“Already say I love you, last night. What is one more thing?”

Sid smiles and leans down to kiss him.

When Geno wakes for the last time that day, it’s light out, he’s naked, and he’s alone in bed.

He lifts his head off the pillow and looks around the room. It’s empty and the door is still closed, but he can hear the raised voices of Sid and his parents from down the hall.

“I don’t get where this is coming from,” Sid says. “I don’t understand it.”

Geno sits up.

“How did you expect us to react when you told us this?” Troy asks. He sounds more composed than Sid, but there’s an edge to his voice.

“I expected you to be happy for me. For us. You — you’re the one who said you were worried that I was lonely. Geno told me —”

“Geno told you that we talked?” Trina asks and Geno winces.

“Yes, he told me. We’re together, we tell each other everything.”

“Has he told you what he’s going to do this summer?” Troy asks. “Where he’s going to go? If he’s going back home?”

“He said he wanted to come back here. With me.”

“For the whole summer?”

There’s silence.

“He’s going to go back to Russia,” Troy says, “and what do you think he’s going to do there? Do you think he’s going to wait for you? Do you think he’s going to turn down all the people — all the women — who want to spend time with him? It’s Russia and he’s Evgeni Malkin —”

“I know who he is.”

“I know you think he’s a good guy —”

“You love him,” Sid explodes and Geno climbs out of bed and hunts around the floor for his clothes, pulling them on as he finds them. “You wouldn’t shut up about him from the moment I told you I was bringing him here and then once he got here —”

“That was when I thought you were friends!” Troy shouts back. “That was before I thought —”

“Do you think he’s not good enough for me?”

“No —”

“Or do you think I’m not good enough for him?”

“Sidney,” Trina says gently as Geno sits back down on the bed, fully dressed.

“Listen,” Troy starts, “if you want to be his dirty little secret —”

“That’s not what’s happening!”

“Oh, so is he going to tell people that you’re together?”

“It was his idea to tell you.”

“What about his parents? What about the team? How long are you going to pretend you’re just friends?”

“That’s not … we don’t pretend.”

“Do you think he’ll be able to go home again if word gets out? It’s Russia, Sidney. It’s serious. Do you think he’s going to give that up for a fling?”

“He loves me.”

“I know you think that —”

“He told me. _He_ told _me._ He said it first.”

“Guys say a lot of things to get what they want,” Trina says, “even things they don’t mean.”

“You think he’s lying to me?”

“I think there is no long-term happiness here,” Trina answers. “And I just want you to be happy, like you were with Adam.”

“Adam cheated on me,” Sid snaps. “He cheated. I wasn’t happy with him.”

“Is that why you left?”

“It’s not why I left but it’s why I couldn’t stay and it’s good that I didn’t. I never would’ve found Geno.”

“A guy that’s probably going to cheat on you,” Troy says.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“I bet you thought that about Adam until he did.”

“Geno isn’t Adam,” Sid says.

“No,” Troy answers. “Because Adam would hold your hand in public and call you his boyfriend. You’re not going to have that with Geno.”

“Not now,” Sid sputters out and Geno’s heart clenches in his chest. “Not until he’s ready.”

“What if he’s never ready?”

“That’s not —”

“What if he’s just having a good time with you until he finds some woman —”

“He loves me.”

“That he can settle down with —”

“He told me that he loves me.”

“And have kids,” Troy finishes. “Do you think you’re the first one?”

“Geno said —”

“Do you think Geno is the first NHL player to have a boyfriend? It’s the same story every time. Eventually people start to talk and before you know it he has a wife and a baby on the way and the boyfriend is forgotten. Is that what you want?”

“That’s —- that’s not —”

“We love you,” Trina says, “and we only want what’s best for you. And if we thought that Geno —”

There are footsteps coming hard and heavy down the hall and Geno barely has time to lift his head before the door slams open.

Sid stares at him for a moment before he shakes his head and makes a beeline for his suitcase.

“Go pack,” he says as he hauls his bag onto the bed. “We’re leaving.”

“Sid —”

“I have to get out of here,” Sid says quickly as he throws clothes and shoes into his suitcase. “We have to get out of here.”

“Think maybe we should talk about this, maybe they don’t —”

“You heard what they said,” Sid snaps. “They said all those horrible things and you want to talk about it? We’re leaving. I can’t stand to be in this house a second longer. I can’t stay here knowing what they think about you, about us.”

“Flight isn’t until tomorrow, Sid.”

“I don’t care.” He crosses the room and picks his watch off the dresser then grabs a book off the nightstand. They’re both tossed unceremoniously into the bag. “I’ll get us a new flight or, fuck, you can hire that private plane if you want to. We’ll figure it out at the airport.”

“Don’t have a way to get to the airport,” Geno quietly points out.

“I’ll call an Uber,” Sid says as he continues to pack. “I’ll call a Lyft or a cab or I’ll ask a neighbor, I don’t care.”

“Sid —”

“Geno,” Sid interrupts. His voice is hard but Geno can see that his eyes are beginning to water. “Pack your shit or I’ll go pack it for you.”

Geno nods, once. “Okay. Okay, Sid.”

Sid blinks then wipes at his eyes. “I’ll get our stuff out of the bathroom,” he says as he follows Geno out of the room.

Troy and Trina are still in the kitchen and they stop talking when he and Sid spill out into the hallway.

Geno throws everything into his bag as quickly as he can then gets on his hands and knees to look beneath the bed to see if anything rolled under it.

“I got everything,” Sid says and Geno jumps, bumping his head on the bed frame. “Are you ready? Let’s go.”

Geno rubs his head and picks himself up off the floor.

“I’m going to call a ride,” Sid says as he takes his phone out of his pocket. “We’re going to wait outside.”

Geno silently shoulders his bag and follows Sid out of the room and down the hall. Sid doesn’t even look away from the phone screen as he passes the kitchen and his parents, just walks straight out of the house.

Geno pauses halfway between the kitchen and the front door and turns around. Troy and Trina stare back at him. They look embarrassed, but not sorry.

“Thank you,” Geno starts, “for letting me stay here, welcoming me to your home. Was nice to meet you.”

“You’re welcome,” Trina says while Troy sighs.

“Geno —” He starts but Geno shakes his head and cuts him off.

“I love Sid,” Geno says evenly. “Am not going to cheat or leave him. Am in this, with him, for as long as he wants me. Hoping for forever. Sorry you don’t approve —”

“It’s not that we don’t approve, Geno,” Trina says as Sid barrels back into the house.

“The Lyft is seven minutes away,” he says as he takes Geno’s bag and hefts it onto his shoulder. Then he reaches for Geno’s hand and threads their fingers together. “Wait outside with me, please.”

Geno nods and squeezes Sid’s hand. “Of course,” he says to Sid before he turns back to Sid’s parents. “Have to go,” he tells them, “have to bring him home.”

*

Sid is quiet on the way to the airport. He looks out the window, his knees pressed against the door, sitting as far from Geno as possible in the back seat.

Geno spends the ride with his phone pressed to his ear, trying to call anyone he can think of who would be able to find him a jet on short notice.

He keeps making eye contact with the driver in the rear view mirror; the driver, in return, looks at Geno with wide, starstruck eyes, even though it’s clear he’s trying to play it cool.

The driver misses the exit to the airport and apologizes profusely.

“It’s okay,” Sid says, speaking for the first time. The driver jumps like he had forgotten Sid was even back there and Geno bristles. “You can still get there if you get off at the next exit and take back roads. I can show you if you don’t know.”

“No,” the driver says, “I know, I just …” He looks at Geno in the mirror again. “I’m sorry.”

Sid sighs and looks back out the window. “He can sign something for you when we get out, if you want.”

“That would be awesome,” the driver says as he exits the highway. “I’ve never driven anyone famous before. Sorry for freaking out.”

“He gets it all the time,” Sid says quietly.

Even with millions and millions of dollars at Geno’s disposal, they still have to wait for a plane.

Thankfully, some of that money gets them into the VIP lounge, which is significantly less crowded than the rest of the airport.

But they’re still in public, which means that, even though he wants to, he can’t hold Sid’s hand or wrap his arm around Sid’s shoulders and tuck him against his side.

At most, he could put his hand on Sid’s knee and even then it would have to be a brief touch. There and gone. Just buddies. _No homo._

Geno shakes his head at the thought. Maybe Sid’s parents are right. He can’t even comfort their son when he so clearly needs it.

He settles for pressing their knees together but, as soon as they touch, Sid is pulling away.

“We didn’t eat breakfast,” Sid says as he stands up. “You have to be starving.”

“I’m okay,” Geno tells him but Sid shakes his head.

“There’s a Tim Hortons in the terminal,” he says. “I’m going to grab something. Do you want anything special?”

“Whatever you think,” Geno says as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.

Sid’s quick to wave him off. “I got it,” he says quickly, “after everything … I got it.”

Sid leaves the lounge and Geno sits there, all alone, wondering what to do next.

Sid returns a short time later with paper cups in each hand and a paper bag tucked beneath his arm.

“I got you tea,” he says as he hands over one of the cups. “I’m sorry, it’s probably terrible, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Is okay,” Geno says gently as he wraps his hands around the cup. The warmth seeps into his palms. “Drink lots of tea from airports over the years. Is not that bad.”

“I got Timbits, too,” Sid says as he shakes the paper bag. “If you want.”

“Bad for diet,” Geno jokes. For the first time that morning, Sid smiles.

They’re almost done with the bag of doughnuts by the time Geno gets the call that their plane is ready. Sid looks a little intimidated when they step out onto the tarmac.

“It’s one thing to fly with the team but this … do you fly like this often?”

Geno shakes his head. “No, not really. Vacations, short trips, but I use regular plane to get back to Russia.”

Sid nods and looks up at the jet.

“If you like,” Geno says, “we could go somewhere this summer. You pick where, anywhere you want.”

Sid smiles softly, wistfully, like he doesn’t think it’s actually going to happen, and Geno’s heart aches. “That would be nice.”

Despite his reservations, a private jet seems to suit Sid just fine.

He looks nice all curled up in one of the oversized seats, sipping the last of his coffee and eating the final Timbit.

There’s no flight crew, just the pilot and co-pilot locked behind a door in the cockpit, so Geno leans over the arm of his own seat and grabs Sid by the sleeve of his coat. He pulls him in for a sugar-sweet kiss that Sid sighs into.

“You okay?” Geno asks and Sid shakes his head.

“How can you ask me that? After everything my parents said to you, I should be asking you that.”

“Is okay, Sid.”

“It’s not,” Sid says fiercely and Geno tries to soothe him with another kiss.

“Have heard worse. Hockey fans are brutal.”

Sid looks unconvinced. “Hockey fans attack the way you play the game, not who you are as a person.”

Geno snorts. “Obviously you don’t have Twitter account. They attack everything.”

“And it would only be worse if they found out about us,” Sid says. Geno’s stomach twists because that is more than likely true.

“Would delete my Twitter,” Geno says. “Won’t miss it.”

“Would it be any better on Instagram or whatever? You love that.”

“Can make it so people can’t leave comments. Can live without social media, Sid, and you never answered my question. Are you okay?”

Sid sits back in his seat, slipping out of Geno’s grasp. “Do we have to talk about it right now?” Sid asks. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Geno tells him. “Don’t have to talk until you want to.”

They lapse into silence after that. Geno bites his tongue, wanting to ask if Sid is ready to talk now every five minutes.

He wants to know what Sid is thinking and feeling and what this means for the two of them going forward. He knows Sid loves his parents and that what they think means a lot to him. He can’t stay mad at them forever.

He wants to hear Sid tell him that he loves him again. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s said it.

By the time they land in Pittsburgh, Sid seems even more drawn in on himself.

Wordlessly, he follows Geno from the plane to the car and throws his bag into the back seat before he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Can you take me home?” he asks Geno while Geno waits for the car to warm. It’s colder here than it was in Canada and Geno had to scrape a thick layer of frost off the front window. Sid sighs, his breath forming a cloud in front of his face. Geno cranks the heat up higher. “I just want to go home.”

It feels like it’s been ages since Geno’s been to Sid’s apartment complex. They’ve been living in each other’s pockets at Geno’s place or on the road with the team. He doesn’t know if the heat is on in Sid’s apartment or if there’s food in his fridge … it seems irresponsible to leave him there. When Geno pulls into a parking spot, Sid makes no move to get out.

The engine runs and the heat blasts through the vents as they sit there in silence, Sid looking out the window and Geno looking at Sid.

Finally, Geno speaks. “Sid, let me take you home.”

Sid looks up at the building. “I am home.”

“No,” Geno says as he turns in his seat, “my home. We can … I don’t know, take a shower, take a nap. Have lunch.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Then no lunch. Can do whatever you want, just don’t want you to be alone now.”

“I think that might be what I need,” Sid says. “It’s not your fault,” he adds quickly. “It’s not that I want to be away from you, it’s just … I think I just need a minute. Maybe I’ll call my sister, if that’s okay with you.”

“Anything you want, Sid.”

“She’ll probably be more supportive,” Sid says. “She’ll probably think it’s really cool and ask for your number so she can send you the dirt on me.”

Geno smiles and puts his hand on the back of Sid’s neck, giving it a light squeeze. “Can give it to her if you want.”

Sid barks a laugh. It’s the loudest he’s been since they left his parents’ house. “Yeah, right. I’m gonna hold off on that for as long as possible.” He leans back into Geno’s touch and sighs. “I’m sorry, G. I’m sorry that your bye week got ruined and you had to hear all those awful things my parents said.”

“Is okay, Sid.”

“It’s not though,” Sid shoots back. “You know that it’s not, right? They don’t even know you and they made all these assumptions and accusations … it’s not right. If I knew they were going to react like that I wouldn’t have told them.”

“Ever?” Sid shrugs. “I guess they would’ve gotten the hint when they got the wedding invitation.” He says it softly, almost as if it’s a joke, but for Geno that’s where all this is headed, somewhere down the line. “I should go,” Sid says and Geno squeezes his neck again. “Text me when you get home.” Sid reaches out and cups Geno’s cheeks in his hand, his thumb swiping against the dark circles Geno knows are beneath his eyes. “You look tired.”

“I’m okay,” Geno tells him. “Okay enough to get home.”

“Text me,” Sid repeats, “so I know. And I’ll call you, when I’m —” He stops and heaves a huge sigh. “— when I’m ready to talk more about this.”

Geno turns his face into Sid’s hand and kisses the center of his palm. “Love you,” he says. Sid smiles and leans across the center console for a kiss.

“I love you,” Sid says as he pops open the door, “and I'll talk to you later.”

Sid grabs his bag out of the back and hefts it onto his shoulder. Geno watches him walk across the parking lot to the front door, where he punches in the code and steps into the building without looking back.


	11. Chapter 11

Geno’s house is too big. 

When he was young (and stupid) he bought it for that very reason, much to the delight of his Realtor, who got an impressive commission, and the chagrin of his parents, who had balked at the wastefullness of it all.

“What are you going to do with all the extra rooms?” they had asked. “And the land, and the swimming pool and the basketball court?!”

Geno didn’t have answers back then. He didn’t care. He had the money and the fame and it was always a race and a competition to see who on the team could get the nicest things and the biggest homes. 

Except the rest of the team grew up and got married and had families. They filled their homes with their children’s toys and dogs and love and Geno … things have been quiet for him for quite some time. These past few months he’s had Sid.

Now, in Sid’s sudden absence, the house feels cold and empty. It might be filled with furniture and knick-knacks that Geno hand-picked himself, but there’s no warmth to it. No fun. 

He feels a bit pathetic to be breaking down so quickly. Geno’s spent more than thirty years of his life without Sid and has managed just fine but as twenty-four hours without hearing from him rolls into forty-eight, he’s properly restless and lonely. 

He’s not going to call Sid. They texted briefly, right when Geno got home from dropping him off — just as they agreed — but it’s been silent since then and Geno is going to respect that. If Sid needs time and space then Geno is going to give it to him, even if he doesn’t understand it. 

How could being apart in a difficult time ever be better than being together?

He texts a few of his friends but they’re painfully slow to respond. The only other people within reach are his teammates, but they’re all just getting back from their own vacations and Geno doesn't want to be a bother.

That really only leaves one option and he doesn’t even think about the time difference between Pittsburgh and home until the call connects and his mother’s frantic voice fills the line.

“Zhenya,” she says, “is everything okay?” He can hear her waking up his father. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay,” he assures her. “I’m not hurt.” _Not really_ , he thinks. “I didn’t mean to call so late, I forgot to check the time and I just —”

“Zhenya,” she says again, softer than before but no less worried. “Is everything okay?”

Geno closes his eyes and shakes his head, forgetting that she can’t see him. 

Then he breaks down and tells her everything. 

-

Geno feels emotionally hung-over on the way to practice the next morning.

He had talked to his mother for hours and then to his father for another hour after that. He told them about Sid, how they met and how they fell in love. About coming home early from Miami and about going to Nova Scotia. All the things Sid’s parents said and how Sid ran with him from the house and back to Pittsburgh, where he hasn’t been heard from in days. 

Geno’s mother had wanted to fly to him immediately. His father had shouted to her to “ _Put that suitcase away; it’s dark and I’m not driving to the airport in the dark_ ” and Geno had laughed through his tears. 

Geno had talked her down, telling her to wait at least until the team got back from the upcoming road trip before coming over. There was no point in them sitting alone in his empty house. 

She agreed but wished that she were there now so she could hug him and tell him that she loves him. 

Geno wished for that, too, he still does, even as he pulls into the side parking lot next to the practice facility, a few spots down from Sid’s car. 

The locker room is crowded and noisy, the guys swapping stories and photographs from their week away and Geno settles quietly into his stall. He’s content to pretend the last week didn’t happen — or at least the last few days of it — but it’s clear that won’t be happening when Tanger slides up beside him and pulls him into their complicated handshake.

“How’s it feeling?” Tanger asks as he squeezes Geno’s hand. Geno nods. His hand feels fine. The rest of him ... “You ready to get back out there?”

“God, yes,” Geno says and Tanger laughs, his face lighting up. 

“We’re ready to have you back,” Tanger says as he sits down and pulls on his skates. “How was your week?”

“Was fine,” Geno says quickly — too quickly — and Tanger looks up, shaking his hair out of his face so he can see. “Was good.”

“What did you do? Where’d you go? Take another stab at Miami?”

Geno freezes. Everything wants to spill out of him like it did last night to his parents. After all these years he considers Tanger to be family. A brother. He would keep his secret — _their secret_ — safe.

Tanger sits back, expression serious, and asks, “Are you okay?”

Geno shakes his head then nods. “Am fine,” he lies. “Was fine. Quiet week, you know? What did you do?”

Tanger stares at him for a long moment before he reaches into his bag for his phone, where he shows off photos of himself and Cath and the kids all playing in the snow in Montreal. They look happy, all of them.

“Went well?” Geno asks. “Going okay?”

Tanger nods, still swiping slowly through the photos. “Yeah,” he says. “I think it’s going to be okay.”

It’s like heaven to be back on the ice with the rest of the team. He’d feel better if he got this stupid red no-contact jersey off, but with a few practices between now and the first game of the road trip, he supposes he can live with it. 

His hand feels good, the grip around his stick is strong, and his footwork is as fast as it’s ever been. He feels like he’s putting on an encouraging show for the reporters and the fans in the stands — until he looks up and sees Sid standing behind the bench. Then he promptly trips on a divot in the ice and goes down hard.

The guys laugh and the fans gasp and Geno can almost hear the reporters tapping on their phones and laptops, tweeting that he’s down and slow to get up. 

It’s more embarrassing than painful but when he pushes himself up, there’s blood on the ice. 

His lip is bleeding — he bit almost clean through it — and he groans as he finally gets to his feet. 

“Go get it checked out,” Sully says. “Now,” he adds when Geno tries to argue. 

Geno drips blood down his chin and onto the no-contact jersey as he skates away, stepping off the ice when Sid opens the door for him. 

Wordlessly he follows Sid down the hall, his hands sweating in his gloves as they take a right and then a left into the empty trainers’ room.

“Does it hurt?” Sid asks as he gestures for Geno to sit down on the exam table. 

Geno stays standing, _looming_ in his skates until Sid turns around. 

He looks tired. There are dark circles beneath his eyes and there seems to be a permanent worry line carved deep into his forehead and between his eyebrows. 

Sid’s shoulders sag. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But can you please sit? You’re still bleeding.”

Geno darts his tongue out and tastes metal, so he hobbles over to the table while Sid snaps on a pair of medical gloves. 

Sid steps close and dabs at Geno’s split lip, wincing when Geno hisses and flinches back. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly before he raises his eyes and really looks at Geno. “And I’m sorry. I said I would call you and then ...”

“Said you would call when you are ready,” Geno mumbles as Sid continues to tend to his lip. “Is okay, Sid.”

Sid shakes his head. “It’s not,” he says with a sigh. “Are you okay? I mean —” He juts his chin toward Geno’s mouth. “Besides the obvious.”

“I’m okay,” Geno says even as Sid presses an ice pack to his lip. “Called my mama. Told her everything.”

Sid’s eyes go wide. “Everything?”

Geno nods. 

“How’d she take it?”

They didn’t, truthfully. Geno called Sid by name and said _he_ and _him_ multiple times and his parents didn’t react at all. They didn’t give any pause or ask any questions. They just … didn’t seem to care. 

“Coming over to see me after road trip,” Geno tells him. “Will be nice to see again. You talk to your sister?”

Sid nods but doesn’t say anything. 

“You talk to parents?” Geno asks and Sid shakes his head. 

“Nope. No.”

“You going to?” Geno asks and Sid shakes his head again. 

“You shouldn’t talk so much,” he says. “You could tear your lip more.”

“Sid —”

“Why are we even talking about this? Why are we letting it overshadow your comeback?”

Geno huffs and removes the ice pack from his lip. “Some comeback.”

“This is no big deal,” Sid tells him as he guides the ice pack back to Geno’s mouth. “As soon as I see that it’s stopped bleeding you can get back out there.”

“Can’t play with no contact.”

“It’s one practice. If everything goes well today you’ll get into a regular jersey for the next two and then you’ll be playing.”

“Sully will say game-time decision.”

“That’s what he always says,” Sid tells him. “You’ll be out there.” He smiles. “Aren’t you excited?”

Geno nods. Of course he is, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still thinking of other things. “Come home with me after practice. Miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Sid says quietly. “Let’s get you back out on the ice first.”

He returns to the ice with a fat lip and to a chorus of stick taps from the guys and audible sighs of relief from the fans. 

*

His sore mouth gets him out of talking to the media after practice so his is one of the first cars out of the parking lot. 

Sid is only half an hour behind him and Geno has the front door open before he’s even out of the car. 

They make lunch together and eat it in the den in front of the TV. 

After, Sid brings their plates into the kitchen and cleans up while Geno lays down, unexpectedly tired from his first full practice in months. 

He must drift off because, when he opens his eyes, the TV is off, his head is on Sid’s lap and Sid’s raking his fingers slowly through Geno’s hair. 

Geno sits up and pulls at Sid’s leg, manhandling him until both of Sid’s feet are up on the couch and his back is against the arm rest. 

Sid laughs as Geno crawls between his knees but pulls away just before Geno can kiss him. 

“I think kissing is off limits for now,” he says as he gently presses two fingers against Geno’s sore bottom lip. 

Geno pouts and Sid laughs again. 

“Don’t look so sad,” Sid says. “Just because you can’t kiss me doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you.”

Upstairs, Sid strips Geno down then lays him out and presses kisses to his skin from head to toe. 

Geno alternates curling his fingers into Sid’s hair when he’s within reach and into the sheets when he’s too far. 

Sid kisses across Geno’s collarbone and down his chest, teeth grazing nipples and hip bones before he soothes the spots with his tongue. 

Sid kisses around the base of Geno’s dick, the crease of his thighs, the soft skin just below his belly button.

Geno bites his lip to keep himself quiet as Sid licks over the head of his cock.

“Don’t do that,” Sid says as he pulls off. Geno whines. “Don’t bite your lip.” He crawls back up Geno’s body and pulls Geno’s bottom lip from between his teeth with his thumb. “You’ll get it bleeding again. Plus, I wanna hear you.”

Geno moans and Sid smiles before he ducks back down. 

Sid blows him as he fingers him open, slowly. Everything is hot and slick and Geno is nearly crying by the time Sid kisses both of his knees before he hikes Geno’s legs over his shoulders and pushes in. 

“I love you,” Sid tells him as he leans forward and presses their foreheads together. “I love you so much.”

Geno shudders and wraps a hand around the back of Sid’s neck when Sid thrusts in deep. 

“Love you,” he says as he pulls Sid into a kiss. 

After, Geno is left to catch his breath alone while Sid runs downstairs for ice for Geno's newly re-split lip. 

_It was worth it,_ Geno thinks as he holds a facecloth to his mouth and stares up at the ceiling, sweat cooling on his body. He doesn’t want to be away from Sid, ever, and he doesn’t want to fight or for there to be tension but if that’s how it is when they reunite ...

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Sid’s phone begins to ring on the nightstand. He ignores it and kicks the tangled blankets away from his feet instead, but it starts to ring again and again. He finally rolls over to check. 

_Mom_ flashes across the screen and Geno watches and listens to it ring until it goes dark and quiet again. A moment later he hears Sid’s footsteps coming down the hall and rolls back over, one hand pressing the cloth to his lip as he tucks the other behind his head.

“I told you no kissing,” Sid says as he enters the room with a Ziploc bag filled with ice wrapped in a kitchen towel cradled in his hand. He climbs up onto the bed and trades the bag of ice for the face cloth then takes the bloody cloth into the bathroom to soak.

“Phone was ringing,” Geno says casually when Sid pads back into the room. Out of the corner of his eye he watches Sid frown down at his phone. “Everything okay?”

“It was no one,” Sid says but his frown deepens when the phone rings in his hand. 

“Sid,” Geno says and Sid shakes his head and puts the phone on silent. 

“It’s still no one.”

“Know that it’s not,” Geno says. The screen is still lit up in Sid’s hand. “You never going to talk again?”

“Not for a while.”

“What if it is an emergency?”

“Then Taylor would be calling me.”

“What if it is about Taylor?”

Sid shoots him a warning look. “Then someone else would be calling me.” The phone goes dark then lights up again and Sid opens the drawer of the nightstand and tosses the phone in. “They’re not going to say anything that I want to hear. If they can’t support me —”

“They do support you,” Geno gently interrupts. “They don’t support me.”

“You’re a part of me,” Sid says. “You’re half of it. You … us … it’s all one thing. If they don’t support that — us — then they don’t support me.”

“What if they are calling to apologize?”

Sid scoffs. “They’re not, trust me.”

“Sid —”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” Sid says as he grabs the covers from the end of the bed and attempts to straighten them out. “I want to take a nap.” He yanks at the comforter that’s tucked beneath Geno’s hip and sighs. “Let me see your mouth.”

Geno pulls the ice away and darts his tongue out to touch the cut. It tastes like metal but he doesn’t think it’s bleeding anymore. 

“You’ll live,” Sid tells him, “but you should keep the ice on it for a little while longer.”

Geno nods and holds out his spare hand for Sid to take and hauls him onto the bed, tucking the sheets and comforter around him the best he can while still holding the ice to his lip.

“Sleep,” he says to Sid as he pulls the bag away and presses cold, numb lips to Sid’s temple. 

“Stop kissing me,” Sid mumbles as he settles deeper into the pillows, “or else it’ll never heal.”

Geno hums and kisses him again. “I’ll take my chances.”

*

Geno starts the next practice in a no-contact jersey but halfway through gets the go ahead to switch to a regular one.

Tanger checks him first, a gentle bump into the boards during the scrimmage that makes Geno grin.

“Welcome back,” he says as Geno laughs and pushes him out of the way. 

Sid follows him home after and then again after practice a day later. He packs a bag for the road trip with clothing he’s left behind that has made its way into Geno’s closet and dresser. 

He still hasn’t talked to his parents, Geno’s sure of it. He hasn’t heard Sid’s phone ring since that afternoon in the bedroom but he knows he still uses it to call his sister, excusing himself and slipping into another room to chat softly and fondly. 

Geno had asked once if they had a good talk and Sid had very politely brushed him off. 

“It was fine,” he had said, voice light while his eyebrows pinched together, “don’t worry about it,” which had only made Geno worry more.

He’s still worrying now on the plane, halfway to Colorado, less invested in the card game carrying on in front of him than at staring at the back of Sid’s head where he’s sitting a few rows up.

Tanger snaps him out of it by elbowing him in the ribs.

“Hey, you want in again?” he asks. Geno blinks and looks down to see Dumo shuffling the cards. He lost all that money without even realizing it.

“No,” Geno says, then “yes,” because what else does he have to do?

“You okay?” Tanger says and Geno nods as he picks up the cards he’s been dealt. They’re shit, but he’ll see what he can do.

“Girl trouble?” Dumo asks and Geno’s eyes snap up to meet his. Tanger tenses just slightly and Dumo shrugs. “What? Usually when guys get all cloudy like that it’s about a girl. You haven’t mentioned that you’ve been seeing anyone recently and that’s unusual so she must be playing hard to get. And since you haven’t moved onto the next one, she must be pretty special.”

Tanger clears his throat and rearranges the cards in his hands, almost like he’s pretending he didn’t just hear all that and Geno shakes his head.

“You know, remember when you were baby D-man, too afraid to talk to old guys.”

Dumo grins. “What’s her name?”

“What’s your bet?” Tanger asks and Geno digs into his pocket for his wallet.

“Come on, man,” Dumo says. “You won’t even tell us her name?”

Geno pulls out a wad of cash thick enough to distract him. 

With the time difference, it’s well past dinner time by the time the team makes it to the hotel.

Most of the guys opt to order room service while a small group heads down the street to a hole-in-the-wall diner that Dumo found while scouring the internet. 

Geno texts Sid and asks for his room number. 

Sid is just down the hall and the door is propped open with the swing bar so Geno can let himself in. 

Sid has his suitcase open on the desk and he’s rummaging through it, mumbling something about forgetting his razor at home.

“Good,” Geno says as he shuts and locks the door. He crosses the distance and wraps his arms around Sid’s middle, rests his chin on Sid’s shoulder. “Look good with a little stubble. Not too much. Awful beard.”

“You’re honestly one to talk,” Sid says, pulling his hand out of his bag so he can squeeze Geno’s wrist where it’s pressed against his stomach. “Do you think they’d bring me one if I called the front desk?”

“Why you care about that now?” Geno groans as he tugs Sid over to the bed and tosses him down before clamoring on top. “I’m here,” he says. “Other things to care about.”

Sid slides his hand up Geno’s thigh. “Can we have dinner first?” he asks. “Kinda hungry.”

Geno nods and rolls off of him so he can pull the room service menu from beneath Sid’s suitcase. As soon as he gets within reach, Sid sits up and plucks it out of his hand, laughing as he rolls away so he can hog it.

“Get me whatever,” Geno tells him as he flops back on the bed, kicking off his shoes before he shimmies up to get his head on the pillow and watches Sid study the menu, biting his lip as he turns it over to frown at the drink selection. 

Geno sighs and reaches out to lay his hand across the back of Sid’s neck, just to touch, and Sid stretches his arm out to grab the phone on the bedside table. 

“Thinking about coming out,” Geno said as Sid picks up the handset. He drops it immediately.

“What?”

“Would just be easier,” Geno explains as Sid rolls away and pushes himself up and off the bed. Geno’s hand falls into the warm, empty space his body left behind. 

Sid stares down at him. “Easier how? Who would you even come out to? Where? What would you even say?”

“Would say I fall in love with a guy. Won’t have to mention your name.”

“Yeah, I’m sure no one would have any follow-up questions,” Sid says sarcastically. 

“Would tell Jen to handle that.”

“So you would tell Jen?”

Geno shrugs. “Jen … team. World. Maybe not all at once but —”

“Why do you want to do this?”

Geno shrugs again but tension has seeped into his shoulders and he knows Sid sees it. “Have to do it sometime, yeah?”

“But why now?”

“Want to tell Tanger,” he says, “and Dumo said something on the plane … just want it all out. Get it over with.”

Sid sharpens his gaze and Geno sighs.

“If I do this … this big, big thing, then maybe your parent —”

Sid interrupts him with a groan, fisting his hands into his hair before he kneels on the bed. “Don’t do this,” he says. “Don’t let them pressure you into doing something you’re not ready to do.”

“Is not pressure, Sid.”

“So if they didn’t say all that shit you’d still want to do this?”

Geno hesitates a half second too long and Sid scoffs. 

“I thought so.”

“Maybe I just tell a couple guys,” Geno says and Sid shakes his head.

“Maybe you think about this, really think about this. Do you really want to do this just as you’re finally coming back? Just before the playoffs? It’s all anyone will be talking about.”

“They get over it.”

Sid gives him a hard look. “G, c’mon. You know better than that.”

Geno doesn’t know because no one has ever done it before. He doesn’t have a blueprint for this, no path to follow. Maybe it’s all people will talk about for the rest of his life. Maybe no one will care. He doesn’t know. And neither does Sid.

“Hate that this is like a secret,” he says slowly, “like it is something that should be hidden. Like you should be hidden.”

“I don’t mind it that much,” Sid says and Geno blows out a breath, annoyed. 

“Well, I do.”

They sit in silence together, not looking at each other or touching one another until the quiet starts to tear at Geno in sharp pressure points against his skin.

He sighs and Sid interrupts whatever he was going to say by grabbing the menu and the phone.

“I’m starving,” he says. “Last chance to place an order before I just get whatever.”

Geno waves a hand and Sid turns away to make the call, talking quietly and politely then hanging up with a barely audible _click._

“Can you please just think about it, all of it, before you say anything?” Sid asks. Geno nods and they lapse back into silence until there’s a knock on the door and Sid gets up to get their food.

-

Geno has been listed as day-to-day since they came back from their bye week but, after the following morning’s practice, he’s upgraded to game-time decision. 

“Congratulations,” Sid tells him quietly in the trainers’ room. It’s busy, Jake did something stupid to his foot and Rusty’s left shoulder has been aching for a while now. But they’ll both be okay. They have to be.

“Could still not play,” Geno says and Sid rolls his eyes. Everyone in Pittsburgh and Denver knows he’s playing tonight. 

-

Geno gets a goal in the first and two more in the third and between that he picks up two assists. 

It’s an impressive showing and a decisive win. After the media scrum — because there’s no way Jen is going to let him off that hook — and the post-game meeting with the coaches, the team starts formally planning its celebration. 

“We don’t have a game tomorrow so we’re going out tonight,” Dumo announces. “I just have to find a good place.”

The guys throw out suggestions of places they’ve been before and Geno slips away and makes two wrong turns before he finds the trainers’ room.

“Hey,” he says. He can’t hide the happiness in his voice, holdover from the game and from seeing Sid now. 

Sid looks up with a smile from where he’s packing up the equipment. “Quite a game.”

“I’m know,” Geno says, brimming with pride as he slips around the other trainers as they make their own plans for the night. “Going out with team now. You coming.”

“I think I’m just gonna head to bed.”

Geno shakes his head and angled his body away from the rest of the room. “Wasn’t asking, Sid,” he says in a low voice. “Want to celebrate. Want to celebrate with you.”

“I’m kinda tired,” Sid tells him and Geno nods. 

“Okay, so we stay in. Watch movie or something.”

“You should go out. Have fun.”

“Have fun with you.”

“Geno,” Sid says tersely. “Come on.”

“What come on?” Geno asks, voice rising just enough for Sid to raise his eyebrows and flick his eyes over Geno’s shoulder, reminding him that they’re not alone. “Want to celebrate with my _friend,”_ Geno tells him. The word burns his tongue.

“I don’t think this is the place to have this conversation.”

“Then where?” Geno presses. Sid sets his jaw and exhales noisily through his nose. 

“Come on,” Sid mumbles and Geno follows him out of the room and down the hall and into a quiet little alcove, where Sid crosses his arms and looks up at Geno expectantly. 

“Don’t like this, Sid,” Geno starts, “you feel far.”

“I’m right here.”

“You not though. Don’t want to talk —”

“We talk all the time.”

Geno shakes his head. “Not about coming out, not about what your parents say —”

“There’s nothing to say about that.”

Geno points a finger at him. “Is exactly what I mean. How is there nothing to say? They are your parents.”

“Because I don’t want to talk about all the shitty things they said about you and I don’t want to talk about how you want to blow up your whole life just to make them feel better about you, as if that would even work. I don’t know why you want to talk about it.”

“It bothers you.”

“This conversation is bothering me,” Sid snaps before he pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Listen, just go out with your teammates, have a good time, don’t worry about me. Sleeping in my hotel room is exactly where I want to be, okay?” 

Geno doesn’t say anything and Sid cups his cheek. “Okay?” he asks again and Geno nods. “We’ll talk,” Sid promises. “We’ll figure everything out, but not right now. Not when you should be focusing on the game.”

“Can think about more than one thing at once,” Geno pouts. Sid leans up and presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I know that, but you don’t have to right now. Everything is okay. Everything will be okay. Trust me.”

Geno feels like he hasn’t been inside of a bar in forever, more content lately to stay home and have quiet nights with Sid. 

It’s overwhelming, and he almost backs out, but he’s flanked by Horny and Rusty and Dumo and Tanger, along with some of the younger guys behind them. There’s no clear way out.

“This place looks just like the pictures on Yelp,” Dumo says as he pushes forward and makes his way to the bar. “I’m getting us drinks,” he calls over his shoulder as he sidesteps a group of people. “Find a table!”

Geno lets himself be herded toward a group of low, crushed-velvet chairs that surround a glass-top table. He falls into one of the chairs as Tanger and Horny take the ones opposite of him. 

“Old guys sit,” Tanger says as the rest of the guys stand around. “Young guys mingle.”

“Old guys drink,” Dumo shouts above the music and the din of the crowd. He’s holding a half dozen shot glasses in his big hands and there’s a waitress following behind him, carrying at least a dozen on a tray. Dumo thanks her as she sets them down on the table and clear liquor sloshes over the rim of the glasses in his hands as Geno carefully plucks one from his grasp while Horny and Tanger do the same. Dumo distributes the rest to anyone who’s still hanging around. 

“To our captain,” Dumo says as he raises his glass with one hand and pats Geno on the shoulder with the other. “Welcome back.”

Geno raises his glass and takes the shot. He coughs and the guys laugh as he sets the glass down and reaches for another.

Geno isn’t a lightweight, by any means, and he hasn’t been since he was a teenager, which is why he laughs when Tanger warns him to slow down after his fourth drink. They’ve moved on from shots, graduating to an expensive bottle of cognac that they’ve been passing around. 

“Am celebrating,” he says as he pours another glass, “and Russian. This is how we celebrate.” He winks and downs the liquid in one gulp.

“You celebrate by getting drunk,” Tanger asks skeptically. Geno huffs into his glass. 

“You know me at all?” he asks, reaching again for the bottle. “Am not drunk. You see me after we win the Cup? _That_ was drunk.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you,” Tanger says. “And right now, you’re well on your way.”

“Yes, but am not there yet.” He takes another swig then lifts his hips so he can pull his wallet from his back pocket. He wants to flag down the waitress with a hundred dollar bill. The cognac is running low. “Let me buy you drink. You can catch up.”

“I’ve got one,” Tanger says, tipping the beer bottle he’s been nursing for the last half an hour at Geno. Geno shakes his head. 

“Is barely a drink,” he says as he raises his arm, the money pinched securely between his fingers. 

He feels fingers wrap around his wrist and, when he looks up, he doesn’t see the waitress but a very pretty blonde who is giving him a familiar look. 

“You should come dance with us,” she says as she tips her head to acknowledge her equally pretty friend. “We’ve been watching you,” she continues, “and you look bored.” 

Geno shakes his wrist free of her grasp and her face falls briefly before she smiles as he wraps his fingers around hers.

“Am very bored,” he tells her as he stands up. He looks over at Tanger. “Is very boring company here.”

“Geno,” Tanger pleads as he hops to his feet, “don’t do this. Don’t do something that you’re going to regret just because you’re drunk.”

“Am not drunk,” Geno tells him seriously. “Am just going to have a good time.”

It’s what Sid would want. 

The bar has gotten crowded and noisy and the girls are confident and overly handsy with him as they dance and Geno is just tipsy enough to flirt back, mildly, and sober enough to keep things under control. 

He’s boxed in by people on all sides and he has no idea where the rest of the team is but he’s sure Tanger is back at their table, staring out into the sea of people with a disapproving look on his face. Right now, he doesn’t much care about what Tanger thinks. The only person whose opinion he cares about is probably fast asleep by now, tucked into his hotel bed, his phone charging on the nightstand beside him. 

Geno has the sudden urge to call him, to let him hear the roar of the music just so he knows what he’s missing, even though Geno knows he would hate it here. He’d be sitting in the corner, just like Tanger, nursing a beer and looking incredibly out of place. But, then, Geno would be sitting beside him, close enough to whisper in his ear, trying to get him to follow him to the bathroom then laughing at the scandalized look on Sid’s face. 

Geno misses him terribly, like a gaping chasm just opened in his chest and there’s nothing he can find to fill it.

He stops dancing and drops his hands from the girls. 

“Have to get drink,” he tells them. “Catch breath.”

The women follow him back to Tanger, who’s still sitting on the couch just as Geno figured he would be. Geno nudges at him until he gets up with a heavy sigh.

“Have to make room for friends,” Geno tells him as he and the girls sit down on the couch and Tanger takes the chair opposite them. 

“I think it’s time to go,” Tanger tells him as Geno reaches for one of the half-empty glasses on the table. “Some of the guys have already left and it’s getting late.”

Geno ignores him. It’s only twelve-thirty. They have plenty of time.

“Geno,” Tanger says, “I’m begging, man.”

“Why don’t you go and we’ll stay here,” one of the girls says. Geno thinks her name might be Katie but he can’t be sure. She’s the one in the pink heels while her friend is wearing black. That’s the main way he’s been telling them apart. “Or maybe we’ll go,” Maybe-Katie says as she sets her hand on his thigh and slowly moves it up, making her intentions very clear.

Geno can’t let that hand go any farther, so he shakes his head and tells her no. She leans in, either not hearing him over the bass of the music or pretending not to. “Can’t,” he says, louder this time. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that her friend has her phone out. 

Maybe-Katie pouts when Geno moves her hand off his leg. “Why not?”

“Can’t,” Geno says again. He reaches up and thumbs the 71 charm on his necklace. “Have boyfriend.”

Maybe-Katie frowns. Her friend asks “What?” Tanger drops his head into his hand and rubs his fingers across his forehead. 

Geno looks into the liquor and shrugs. “Love him.”

“Delete that,” he hears Tanger demand and a small argument erupts as the girls push themselves up and off the couch and disappear. 

Tanger shifts to sit on the table in front of him, their knees knocking together as Geno looks up. 

“What were you thinking? What are you going to do now?”

“Now,” Geno says as he raises the glass to his lips, “now I get drunk.”


	12. Chapter 12

Geno goes from dead asleep to wide awake in a split second. His mouth waters and his stomach cramps and his body tenses. He’s going to throw up while he’s lying in bed. 

Thankfully, the moment passes as quickly as it had come on and Geno relaxes into the mattress. He turns his head to the side on the pillow and opens his eyes. In the dim light of the room, he can just barely make out Sid’s silhouette on the couch. 

“Why you way over there?” Geno reaches out and pats the empty space beside him. The bed is still perfectly made, the quilt still tucked over the pillows, like Sid never slept there at all. “Come to bed.”

“I want to avoid the splashback from the vomit if at all possible.”

Geno shakes his head. “No. Is over.”

“Is it?

Geno nods, once, then pushes his body off the bed and nearly trips over his feet as he runs to the bathroom. He barely gets the toilet seat up before he falls to his knees and empties his stomach. 

When he finally has the strength to lift his head, he sees Sid standing in the doorway and winces when Sid flips on the lights. 

Geno squeezes his eyes shut and leans back, drawing his knees up to his chest and ducking his head to block out any remaining light. 

He hears the switch flip again and the toilet lid shut before it flushes and water runs in the sink. He flinches when a damp cloth is placed across the back of his neck but he sighs as it works to cool his overheated body. 

“How do you feel?” Sid asks softly and Geno huffs a laugh. 

“Great,” he deadpans. “Don’t need bus. Think maybe I just run to airport later.” He lifts his head and the washcloth slides down his back. “What happened?”

Sid’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. He’s so far away. 

“You don’t remember?”

Geno shakes his head. The movement makes it ache. 

“I was asleep,” Sid starts, “and I woke up to Tanger banging on my door. He wanted to know if they should take you to the hospital to get your stomach pumped. Dumo and Horny were here with you and you were passed out in bed. I told them you’d be okay but I’d stay to keep an eye on you. That was around one-thirty. I haven’t been asleep since.”

“What time is it now?”

Sid pulls his phone halfway out of the pocket of his sweatpants. “6:47.”

Geno groans. 

“The bus leaves at nine,” Sid tells him and Geno groans louder. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

Geno sets his elbows on his knees and cradles his chin in his palms, his fingers sinking into his hair and rubbing at his temples. 

“Remember game,” he says, “remember talking to you.” He looks up at Sid. “You didn’t come with us.”

“No,” Sid says. “I was here. Sleeping.”

Geno hums and continues to think. Sid sighs and pulls his phone all the way out. He unlocks it and pokes at it then holds it out in front of Geno. 

“You have Instagram?” he asks, looking at the screen. Sid rolls his eyes and taps the arrow so the video plays. 

He’s watching himself, flushed and sweaty and looking like a mess with lip gloss stuck to his collar ...

“Nothing happened,” he tells Sid in a panic. “Know how it looks but —”

“I know,” Sid interrupts. “I believe you.”

On the screen Geno watches himself move the woman’s hand from his leg then he hears himself say he has a boyfriend and that he loves him. 

“Oh,” Geno says, “she posted. Good.”

Sid’s eyebrows furrow as he pulls the phone back. “You knew someone was filming you?” he asks, just a bit too loudly. Geno covers his ears with his hands. 

“Quietly, Sid, please. Yell quietly.”

“I’m not gonna yell at you,” he snaps. “I’m going to talk to you and ask you what you were thinking.” He shakes his head. “You weren’t thinking. You were drunk.”

“Not drunk,” Geno says.

“Geno, I can promise you that you were drunk. I saw you last night.”

Geno points to the phone in Sid’s hand. He remembers the moment of the confession clearly. He wasn’t drunk. “After, yes, but during ...”

“You weren’t drunk. So you just … you just —”

There’s a knock on the door and Geno curls in on himself while Sid backs out of the bathroom to answer it. 

Tanger steps into the room and frowns. “Jen wants to see you.”

“Is not a good time,” Geno tells him. 

“Well, she’s not asking. Get up,” Tanger tells him as he takes a step forward then a step back. “Clean yourself up. You reek.”

Tanger waits while Geno brushes his teeth and changes into the clean shirt that Sid dug out of his bag. 

“You still look like shit,” Tanger says as he opens the door. Geno flips him off half-heartedly then looks over at Sid, who is sitting on the corner of the bed with his head down, before he follows Tanger out. 

Jen is two floors up and it’s a quick and quiet ride up in the elevator. 

“You mad at me?” Geno asks when the bell dings and the doors open. 

“I’m not mad,” Tanger says as he steps out and turns left. “I'm just disappointed.”

Geno feels anger flash through him. “Disappointed in me?”

“No, disappointed in myself. I wish I had made it obvious that I’m someone you could have trusted enough to tell.”

“Is not about you, Kris.”

Tanger stops in front of Room 517 and looks up at him. 

“It’s Sid, isn’t it?”

Geno swallows. “How’d you know?”

“Once you see the picture on the box it’s easy to put the puzzle together.”

The door opens before Tanger even knocks and Jen pokes her head out. 

“I thought I heard voices,” she says. “Come in, Geno.”

Tanger takes it for the dismissal that it is and turns back down the hall while Geno follows Jen into her hotel room. She has her laptop open on the desk and Twitter pulled up on the screen and her phone is constantly buzzing with incoming texts and calls. Jen’s already dressed for the day, looking like she does on every travel day with her hair neatly pulled back, but her face ... it looks like she hasn’t slept all night. 

“Sit,” Jen instructs him as he points to the armchair across the room. 

He takes a seat and rubs his sweaty hands over his knees as she frowns down at her phone before she crosses and shows it to him. 

The Instagram video is playing on the screen and Geno shakes his head and gently pushes the phone away. 

“Already seen it,” he says with a shrug. “Was there when it happened.”

“Did you see the second video? The one where you’re hurling into a garbage can on the street?”

Geno blanches. No one told him about that. 

“In my opinion, that’s the one that’s more embarrassing.”

“Am not embarrassed about what I said,'' Geno tells her. “Don’t remember throwing up,” he admits. “Remember girls, remember talking about boyfriend but after that ...” He trails off and wiggles his hand back and forth. “Fuzzy.”

“So after you decided to out yourself you decided to get blackout drunk?”

“I do anything wrong?” Geno huffs. “Illegal? Get in trouble?”

“No,” Jen says slowly, “you weren’t arrested or anything. No one even filed a complaint about you.”

“Okay, so … what is this?” he asks, gesturing to the computer and the phone that’s still lighting up and buzzing in her hand. “What is the big deal?”

Jen’s eyebrows shoot up and she sits down heavily in the desk chair. 

“What’s the big deal?” she repeats. “Geno. You just came out on Instagram.”

Geno nods. “Yes. Guys get married or announce baby all the time on Instagram. You retweet or repost and say congrats and is done. Why is this different?”

“Because you told the world that you have a boyfriend on Instagram,” she says slowly and then immediately snaps, “don’t roll your eyes at me. You have to admit that this is a lot messier than a baby announcement. I mean the calls and the texts that I’ve been getting and the tweets and comments …”

“Is bad?” Geno asks and Jen sighs. 

“You’ve split the fan base into thirds, essentially. Some people are happy and supportive, some people are pissed, and some are pissed because they think that you’re joking and this isn’t something to joke about.”

“Am not joking,” Geno tells her and Jen nods. 

“Yeah. I’m getting that.” She heaves a breath and stares him down. “Why? Just why? Why like this? Why not talk to us, to me? We could have drafted a statement, made plans. You could’ve talked to Wade. He might have been able to give you some insight into all this.”

“Didn’t want to make big deal out of it.”

“And you think you dodged that bullet?” Jen asks. “Two million views,” she says, “and that’s mostly the East Coast. It’s already mid-morning out there and I’m sure that number will skyrocket once the West Coast wakes up. People are going to be talking about this —”

“Until something else happens. Someone says something stupid or gets arrested. Hockey players are dumb. Someone will take spotlight.”

“No, Geno. When you’re the first one to do something, people don’t just forget it. Every time you log into Twitter, you’re going to see something about it in your mentions. Every time you post on Instagram, someone will be in the comment section being an asshole about it. There will be fans in the stands yelling things and there will be opponents on the ice who will give you a hard time. I can’t protect you from that.” 

“Not asking you to protect me,” Geno tells her. “I think about all that. I expect it. Am asking you to protect him.”

“We can keep his name out of any future press releases. If you want to bring him to events, we can keep the cameras off of him or edit him out of the final cut, but beyond that I’d suggest that he keeps his social media accounts set to private and —”

Geno shakes his head. “Not that. Talking about his job. Was one of his worries.”

“It’s illegal for a person to be discriminated against for their sexual orientation in Pennsylvania.”

“Okay,” Geno says slowly, “want you to remember that. Want you to make sure Mario and Jim and David know that, too.”

“Is he a teammate?” Jen asks.

“He is not a hockey player,” Geno answers carefully. “But he’s someone within the organization?”

Geno nods and Jen seems to mentally roll through the list of possibilities in her mind.

“He is good at his job,” Geno tells her, not waiting for her to figure it out. “If he loses his job over this, you will lose me. I will waive everything and go somewhere else, probably in division, and play for cheap.You think I need money?” He shakes his head. “You think I still have good years ahead? Have no idea. Will do everything I can to give Pens nightmares. Am serious.”

“I know you are,” Jen tells him, “and we don’t want to lose you. We don’t want to lose him either.”

“So you know?” “I have an idea,” she says. “You make a nice couple.”

Geno hums and Jen offers him a small smile. “This won’t be easy,” she tells him. “I have no idea how people in Russia will handle hearing the news or what that means for international play or your parents — God, Geno, your parents, please tell me they knew about this beforehand.”

“Already told them,” Geno says, “have already made plans for them to come to Pittsburgh to stay with me.”

“Good,” she says, sounding relieved, “that’s good.” She sighs and shakes her head, looking more fond than exasperated. “You always manage to keep me on my toes.”

“Is part of my job,” Geno says and Jen laughs, “wrote it in contract. Anything else or can I go? Bus leaves soon.”

“We’re going to have to have more conversations about this in the future but, for now, you can head back to your room and take a shower. Please, I’m begging. No one wants to be on a bus or a plane with you right now.”

Geno shakes his head and pushes himself up. “Maybe it will distract them from the other thing.”

Jen barks a laugh then says his name, stopping him just before he opens the door. 

“It’s going to be okay,” she tells him. “It’s not going to be easy, at least not for a little while, but it’ll be okay.”

Geno nods and thanks her but doesn’t say anything else. He has to talk to Sid first. Then he’ll know if it’s really going to be okay. 

Sid’s not where he left him, so Geno heads back down the hall, hurrying along when he hears his teammates moving around behind their own closed doors. 

He’s surprised no one has come looking for him yet, to check in. Maybe Tanger sent out a text telling them to lay low for now or maybe they’re all upset. Maybe they feel betrayed or lied to or maybe they don’t want to step onto the ice wearing the same jersey as him anymore.

He’s worked himself up to a proper panic by the time Sid opens his hotel room door. He takes one look at Geno’s face and immediately pulls Geno into a tight hug, trying to ground him. 

“It just hit you, didn’t it?” Sid asks and Geno nods, burrowing his face into the curve of Sid’s neck. Sid’s hair is damp from the shower and he smells like soap and aftershave. Geno lets himself be held for a long moment before he takes a deep breath and pulls away.

“Am okay,” he says. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Sid says. “I mean, I’m not the one who just came out to the world, but I’ve been getting texts and emails from everyone I know who knows I work for the team, asking me if I knew and if I know who your boyfriend is.”

“What have you said?”

“I’ve been ignoring them.”

“Your parents?” Geno asks and Sid nods.

“I’ve been ignoring them, too. At least for now. I hate that you feel like you had to do this, Geno. I hate it. I hate that they made you feel —”

“Didn’t do it for them,” Geno interrupts as he puts his hands on Sid’s shoulders. He can practically feel Sid’s blood pressure spiking. “Sit,” he instructs as he guides Sid over to the bed. Sid tucks one leg beneath him and reaches for Geno’s hands when he sits beside him. 

“Why did you do it?” Sid asks. “Why now? Why like this?” “Wanted to get it over with. Thought this would be quickest way.”

Sid laughs humorlessly. “Looks like you got what you wanted. Is Jen going to put out a statement on your behalf or for the team or anything?”

Geno shrugs. “Don’t know yet. Said we still had things to talk about.”

“Then you could still take it back,” Sid says. “You could tell them you were drunk and fooling around or you said it on a bet —”

Geno shakes his head. “Sidney.”

“It would suck and I’m sure some people would be pissed —”

“Good people would be pissed and bad people would be happy. Am not going to do that. It’s out. Is not coming back.”

Sid groans and pitches forward so his forehead is resting against Geno’s shoulder and Geno wraps his arm around Sid’s back. 

“Made them promise to protect you,” he tells Sid. “Told them that, if they fire you, they would lose me.”

Sid groans again and Geno jostles him so he picks his head up and Geno gently cradles Sid’s face in his hands.

“I love you,” he tells Sid, “and I had to do this, not just for us but for me, even if it was a little —”

“Stupid?” Sid supplies with a wet laugh. Geno nods. 

“Guess so, yes. Was going to say risky.”

“Same thing,” Sid says and Geno leans in and kisses his forehead. 

“Feel better now,” Geno says quietly, his lips still brushing Sid’s skin. “Can breath. Can be honest with the guys. Can hold your hand. Go out on dates. Vacations. You can ride around with me when we win the Cup.”

“Very optimistic.”

“Very realistic.”

Sid smiles but there’s still worry behind his eyes. “If you get hurt out there … if someone hurts you, I’ll feel like it’s because of me.”

Geno shakes his head and tries to soothe Sid with another kiss. “Can take care of myself out there,” he says. Sid huffs. 

“Don’t break your hand again.”

“If I didn’t break hand we wouldn't have happened. Be thankful. Got to spend so much time together while it healed.”

“I’d rather you just be healthy all the time,” Sid says distractedly as the sound of roller bags and footsteps moving down the hall catches his attention. “You should get back to your room. I’ll help you pack. If you go really fast, you might have time to catch breakfast before we have to get on the bus.” Sid stands and crosses the room to grab his own bag and wheels it over to Geno. 

“Feel hungry but also sick,” Geno complains and Sid bends down and kisses the top of his head.

-

Geno takes a lightning-quick shower and, by the time he’s dried and dressed, Sid has all of his things packed neatly in his suitcase. 

Geno takes a second to kiss him by the door in what could be their last moment of anonymity before they head downstairs.

He’s able to grab a bagel from the breakfast spread and smears on a thick layer of cream cheese, his hat pulled down low as he ignores the whispers from the other guests. 

He takes a huge bite then washes it down with the water Sid grabbed for him, drinking at least half the bottle in one go. 

“Never drinking again,” Geno mumbles as he follows Sid through the lobby. 

“That might be a good idea. But, then again, how many more secrets do you have to drunkenly tell? Hey,” Sid says as he looks over his shoulder and notices that Geno’s stopped a few feet back. “What’s wrong?”

Geno nods to the glass doors. The team is standing on the sidewalk waiting for the bus. 

“I know Tanger is okay but the rest … what if they’re mad?”

“No,” Sid says with a shake of his head. “You know them better than that.”

“Probably thought the same thing about me.”

“It’ll be okay,” Sid assures, stepping close but not close enough to touch. “They love you. They’ll support you.” 

Geno nods and watches the bus pull up to the curb.

“And you don’t really have another option,” Sid says, “unless you want to get left in Colorado.” Geno huffs and Sid lowers his voice. “If it’s terrible I’ll still be right here, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Geno nods again and takes a deep breath before he takes the lead, walking out the doors and onto the sidewalk with Sid following a few feet behind.

Before he can even get a word out Horny rushes forward and pulls him into a tight hug.

“He lives!” Horny yells. “We thought you were a goner a few times there, Cap.” 

“Am okay,” Geno wheezes out. Horny still has him in a bear hug and is rocking him back and forth in a way that’s equal parts sweet and nausea-inducing.

“Are you?” Dumo asks as he points to Geno’s face. “You look a little green. Are you gonna throw up again? Because there’s a trash can right over there. You can recreate the moment from last night.”

“Did you see that video?” Rusty asks as he takes out his phone. “I’m gonna text it to you just in case.”

“Don’t have to,” Geno says as his phone dings in his pocket.

“There,” Rusty says, “now you have it.”

“Is fine,” Geno continues, “want to talk to you guys about —”

His phone dings again, interrupting him as Jake waves his phone around. “I texted it to you, too. Just in case.”

“Thank you,” Geno tells him. “But want to talk about other video.” “When do we get to meet him?” Dumo asks. Geno blinks at him. 

“What?”

“Your guy, when do we get to meet him?”

“We have to make sure he’s good enough for you,” Horny says. “Or find out if he’s too good for you.”

“Which he probably is,” Rusty teases, “and we’re totally prepared to let him know that over and over again.”

“When we get home you guys should come over my place,” Dumo says. “I can cook or I can have it catered. What kind of food does he like? Does he drink? Because I have a bottle of wine I’ve been dying to open but I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

The conversation dissolves around Geno as the guys begin to talk over each other, debating if they should just throw one giant get together or do it one by one because maybe that would be too overwhelming.

“What we’re saying,” Horny says as his voice breaks through, “is that we’re happy for you and we’ve got your back, so whenever you’re ready for us to meet him — or he’s ready to meet us — we’re ready, too.”

Geno swallows down the lump of emotion in his throat. He looks to Tanger, who nods encouragingly, then over his shoulder at Sid, who gives him a small smile.

“Already know him,” Geno says. He’s met with raised eyebrows as he extends his arm behind himself and squeezes Sid’s hand when he feels it slip into his own. 

“You guys know Sid,” he says as he pulls Sid up to stand beside him. 

The guys are quiet for a long moment before Rusty finally breaks the silence.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, he’s definitely too good for you.”

The guys laugh as Geno brings their joined hands up to his mouth so he can kiss Sid’s knuckles.

“Believe me,” he tells them. “I know.”


End file.
